THE 


Tower  of  Percemont, 


By 


GEORGE    SAND 


NEW  YORK: 

JOHN    W.  LOVELL   COMPANY, 
14  AND  i6  Vesev  Street. 


-tDV^ 


^^&6>^^ 


'^^   0"  THE         -^ 

THE   TOWER  OF   PERCEMONT. 


CHAPTER  I. 

It  was  during  my  vacation,  in  the  autumn  of  1873. 
that  I  first  became  connected  with  the  De  Nives  family, 
I  possessed  at  that  time  an  annual  income  of  about  thirty 
thousand  francs,  acquired  as  much  by  my  professional 
labor  as  a  barrister  in  the  royal  court  as  by  the  assiduous 
and  patient  improvement  of  the  real  estate  of  Madame 
Chantebel,  my  wife.  My  only  son,  Henri,  had  just  finished 
his  law-studies  at  Paris,  and  I  was  expecting  him  the  very 
evening  that  the  following  note  reached  me  by  hand  :  — 

''  To  M.  Chantebel^  barrister^  at  the  Maison-JBlanche^ 
commune  of  Percemont^  Riom. 

"  Sir  :  May  I  ask  for  your  legal  advice  ?  I  know  that 
it  is  your  vacation,  but  I  will  come  to  your  country-house 
to-morrow,  if  you  are  willing  to  receive  me. 

**  Alix,  Countess  de  Nives. 
"  Please  reply  by  bearer." 
I  replied  that  I  should  expect  the  countess  on  the 


2  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.\ 

following  day,  and  ray  wife  immediately  began  to  find 
fault  with  me.  '*  You  always  reply  at  once  in  the  same 
fashion,"  she  said,  *'  and  never  allow  any  one  to  urge  you 
or  wait  for  you,  just  as  a  briefless  barrister  would  do-j 
You  never  will  know  how  to  make  the  most  of  your  posi 
tion  !  " 

"  My  position  ?  What  is  my  position,  please  tell  me  ?  " 
"  You  have  the  highest  legal  standing  in  the  districte 
Your  fortune  is  made,  and  it  is  high  time  for  you  to  take 
a  little  rest." 

"  That  will  soon  come  I  hope  ;  but  until  our  son  has 
commenced  the  practice  of  his  profession,  and  shown  that 
he  is  able  to  take  my  place,  I  do  not  intend  to  endanger 
the  situation.  I  wish  to  install  him  with  every  chance  of 
success." 

"  You  always  talk  in  this  way ;  you  have  a  mania  for 
business,  and  are  never  willing  to  refuse  a  case.  You  will 
die  in  harness.  Come  let  us  see  !  -Suppose  Henri  has  not 
the  ability  to  take  your  place  ?  " 

"  Then,  as  I  promised,  I  will  retire  and  end  my  days 
in  the  country  ;  but  Henri  will  take  my  place.  He  is  a 
good  scholar;  he  is  well  endowed — " 

"  But  he  has  not  your  physical  strength  and  your 
determined  will.     He  is  delicate.     He  takes  after  me." 

"  We  shall  see!  If  the  work  is  too  much  for  him,  I 
shall  make  a  consulting  barrister  of  him,  under  my 
direction.  I  am  sufficiently  well  known  and  appreciated 
to  be  certain  that  practice  will  not  be  wanting." 

"  Well  and  good,  I  should  like  that  better.  A  con- 
sulting lawyer  can  give  his  opinion  without  leaving  his 
home,  and  while  living  on  his  estate." 

"  Yes  at  my  age,  with  my  reputation  and  experience ; 
but  this  will  not  do  for  a  young  man.  He  must  live  in 
the  city,  and  even  go  to  see  his  clients.     It  will  be  advis- 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  3 

able, 'during  the  first  years  of  professional   duty,  that  I 
should  be  near  at  hand  in  order  to  direct  him." 

"  That  is  just  like  you !  you  do  not  wish  to  retire ! 
Then  of  what  use  is  it  to  purchase  a  chateau  and  go  to  the 
expense  of  making  it  habitable,  if  neither  of  you  will  live 
there?" 

My  wife  had  recently  induced  me  to  purchase  the 
manor  house  of.  Perceraont,  situated  in  the  very  middle 
of  our  estate,  in  the  commune  of  the  same  name.  This 
territory,  within  the  enclosure  of  our  land,  had  been  a 
source  of  trouble  to  us* for  along  time,  and  we  desired  very 
much  to  become  its  owners;  but  the  old  Baron  Coras  de 
Percemont  valued  his  ancestral  manor  house  at  an  exorbi- 
tant price,  and  determined  to  make  the  purchaser  pay  dear 
for  the  honor  of  restoring  its  ruins.  We  had  given  up  the 
idea  of  possessing  it,  when  the  b^ron  died  without  chil- 
dren, and  the  chateau,  having  been  put  up  at  auction,  was 
knocked  down  to  us  for  a  reasonable  sum.  At  least  thirty 
thousand  francs  were  required  to  render  this  nest  of  vul- 
tures, perched  on  the  summit  of  a  volcanic  cone,  barely 
habitable,  and  1  was  by  no  means  so  eager  as  my  wife  to 
incur  such  an  expense.  Our  country  house,  spacious, 
neat,  convenient,  sheltered  by  hills,  and  surrounded  by  an 
extensive  garden,  appeared  to  me  altogether  sufficient, 
and  our  acquisition  had  no  other  merit  in  my  eyes  than 
that  of  possibly  freeing  us  from  an  inconvenient  and  mis- 
chief-making neighbor.  The  declivities  of  the  rocks  on 
which  the  Tower  of  Percemont  stood  were  well  planted 
in  vines.  The  summit,  crowned  with  a  growth  of  young 
fir-trees,  might  hereafter  become  a  good  cover  for  game, 
and  I  intended,  if  it  were  left  undisturbed,  to  have  there 
an  enjoyable  preserve  for  shooting  in  time  to  come.  My 
wife  did  not  take  the  same  view  of  the-case.  This  gi-eat 
tower  had  disordered  her  brain.     It  seemed  to  her  that, 


4  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

in  perching  herself  there,  she  raised  her  social  level  five 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  Women  have 
their  whims ;  mothers  have  their  weaknesses.  Henri  had 
always  manifested  so  strong  a  desire  to  possess  Percemont 
that  Madame  Chantebel  gave  me  no  respite  until  I  had 
bought  it. 

Almost  the  first  words  she  said  to  Henri,  while  em- 
bracing him,  upon  his  arrival,  when  I  had  only  been  two 
days  in  full  possession  of  my  new  property,  were,  "  Thank 
your  dear  father !  behold  yourself  lord  of  Percemont." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "  baron  of  thistles  -and  lord  of  screech- 
owls.  That  is  something  to  be  proud  of.  I  think  you 
must  have  some  visiting  cards  engraved  which  will  ac- 
quaint the  people  around  us  with  these  lofty  titles." 

"  My  titles  are  more  lofty  than  those,"  he  replied. 
"I  am  the  son  of  the  moet  able  and  most  honest  man  in 
the  province.  My  name  is  Chantebel,  and  I  consider  my- 
self as  greatly  ennobled  by  my  father's  deeds ;  I  disdain 
all  other  lordship;  but  the  romantic  manor-house,  the 
steep  peak,  the  wild  wood,  are  charming  playthings  for 
which  I  thank  you,  dear  father,  and  if  you  are  willing,  I 
/  shall  find  therein,  some  peppei'-box,  a  little  nest  where 
j  from  time  to  time  I  can  read  or  dream." 
^  '*  If  that  is  the  height  of  your  ambition,  I  approve," 
said  I,  "  and  I  give, you  the  plaything.  You  will  allow 
the  game  to  come  back  which  the  old  baron  shot  without 
cessation — having,  I  fancy,  nothing  else  to  put  in  his  pan- 
try— and  next  year  we  will  kill  a  few  hares  together. 
With  this  understanding  let  us  proceed  to  dinner,  after 
which  we  will  talk  of  more  serious  matters." 

I  had  indeed  serious  projects  for  my  son,  and  we  were 
not  about  to  discuss  them  for  the  first  time.  I  wished 
him  to  marry  his  -cousin,  Emilie  Ormonde,  who  was 
familiarly  called  Miliette,  or,  still  better,  Miette.     My  late 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCE 

sister  had  married  a  rich  countryman  of  the  vicinity,  the 
owner  of  a  large  farm,  who  had  left  at  least  a  hundred 
thousand  crowns  to  each  of  his  children,  Miette  and  Jac- 
ques Ormonde.  Jacques  w^as  thirty  years  old,  Erailie  was 
twenty-two. 

When  I  had  refreshed  Henri's  memory  in  regard  to 
this  plan,  concerning  which  he  did  not  appear  over-anx- 
ious to  converse,  I  watched  him  still  more  attentively, 
as  I  had  attacked  him  unexpectedly  in  order  to  surprise 
Ins  first  impression.  It  Avas  more  sad  than  gay,  and  he 
looked  at  his  mother,  as  if  to  seek  in  her  eyes  the  answei; 
he  should  make.  My  wife  had  always  approved  and 
desired  this  marriage  ;  I  was  therefore  extremely  surprised 
when,  speaking  in  place  of  her  son,  she  said,  in  a  reproach- 
ful tone, — 

"  Indeed,  M.  Chantebel,  when  you  have  set  your  mind 
on  anything,  it  is  like  an  iron  wedge  in  a  piece  of  rock. 
Can  you  not  leave  this  poor  boy,  who  is  worn  out  with 
exhausting  labor,  and  who  needs  to  breathe  freely,  a 
single  moment  of  joy  and  liberty  ?  Is  it  necessary  so 
soon  to  talk  to  him  about  putting  the  marriage-halter 
around  his  neck  ?  '' 

"  Is  it,  then,  a  halter  to  hang  one's  self  with?  "  I  re- 
plied, a  little  angry  ;  "  do  you  find  it  so  uncomfortable, 
and  do  you  wish  to  make  him  think  that  his  parents  do 
not  live  happily  together  ?  " 

"I  know  it  is  not  so,"  Henri  replied,  quickly.  "I 
know  that  we  three  make  only  one.  If  you  both  wish 
that  I  should  marry  immediately,  I  stand  for  nothing, 
and  wish  to  stand  for  nothing;  but — " 

"  But,  if  I  am  entirely  alone  in  my  opinion,''  I  re- 
sumed, "  it  is  I  who  will  count  for  nothing.  Then,  we 
three  do  not  make  one,  and  matters  will  be  decided 
between  us  by  the  majority  of  votes." 


6  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

*'Do  you  know,  M.  Chantebel,"  said  my  wife,  wlio 
was  not  wanting  in  sense  on  the  occasion,  *'  We  are 
happy  in  marriage  in  our  fasluon,  but  every  one  regards 
it  in  his  own  way,  and  since  the  good  to  be  looked  for,  or 
the  evil  that  is  risked,  concerns  our  son  exclusively,  my 
opinion  is,  that  we  should  neither  of  us  give  him  advice, 
but  leave  him  to  decide  the  question  by  himself." 

"  This  is  exactly  the  conclusion  that  I  held  in  reserve," 
replied  I ;  "  but  I  thought  he  was  in  love  with  Miette, 
and  had  decided  a  long  time  ago  to  marry  her  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  And  Miette  ?  "  said  Henri,  earnestly — "  is  she  as 
decided  as  I  am,  and  do  you  think  that  she  is  in  love 
with  me  ?  " 
/  "  In  love  is  a  term  which  is  not  found  in  Miette's 
vocabulary.  You  know  her:  a  young  woman,  calm, 
pure,  decided,  and  sincere;  the  personification  of  integ- 
rity, goodness,  and  courage.  It  is  certain  that  Miette 
has  a  great  friendship  for  you.  She  has,  besides  me, 
only  one  guide  and  friend  in  this  world,  her  brother 
Jacques  whom  she  blindly  loves  and  respects.  Miette 
Ormonde  will  marry  whomsoever  Jacques  Ormonde 
chooses,  artd,  since  his  childhood  Jacques  Ormonde,  who 
is  your  best  friend,  has  destined  his  sister  for  you.  What 
Mo  you  wish  for  better  than  this  ?  " 

"  I  could  never  desire  nor  hope  for  anything  better  if 
I  were  loved,"  replied  Henri ;  "  but  let  me  tell  you,  my 
father,  that  this  affection  on  which  I  thought  I  could  rely 
has  for  some  time   grown  strangely  cold.     Jacques    did 
not  reply  when  I  announced  my  approaxilung  return,  and 
'    Emilie's  last  letters  displayed  a  noticeable  reserve." 
"  Did  you  not  set  her  the  example  ?  " 
"  Has  she  complained  ?  " 
"  Miette  never  complains  of  anything ;  she  only  re- 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMOt^fT.  7 

marked  an  abstracted  kind  of  manner  in  your  letters,  and, 
when  I  wished  her  to  rejoice  with  me  at  the  prospect  of 
your  return,  she  appeared  to  doubt  if  it  were  as  near  as 
I  announced.  Come,  my  son,  tell  us  tlie  truth.  You 
may  safely  make  confession  to  your  parents.  I  do  not 
ask  you  to  give  us  an  account  of  diversions  for  which 
Miette  could  reproach  you.  We,  students  of  former 
times,  have  all  passed  through  them,  and  I  do  not  pretend 
that  we  were  better  than  you  ;  still  we  returned  joyfully 
to  the  fold.  Perhaps  in  your  correspondence  with  your 
cousin  you  have  suffered  a  regret  to  escape  you  for 
matters  which  you  would  do  wrong  to  take  too  seri- 
ously." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear  father,  for  this  regret  was  very 
slight  and  was  quickly  effaced  by  the  thought  of  your 
happiness.  I  cannot  recall  that  any  such  expressions  es- 
caped me  ;  I  am  surely  not  simple  enough  to  have  said, 
or  even  thought  of  anything  that  would  furnish  a  motive 
for  the  icy  tone  that  my  little  cousin  assumed  in  reply- 
ing to  me." 

"  Have  you  the  letter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  get  it  for  you  in  a  moment." 

Henri  went  out,  and  my  wife,  who  had  listened  in 
silence,  said  quickly,  "  My  husband,  this  marriage  is 
broken  off  ;  we  must  think  of  it  no  longer." 

"  Why  ?  Who  has  broken  it  off  ?  For  what  pur- 
pose?" • 

"  Miette  is  rigid  and  cold ;  she  understands  nothing 
of  the  requirements  of  a  life  of  elegance  in  a  certain 
situation  ;  she  is  incapable  of  pardoning  a  slight  wander- 
ing from  the  right  path  in  a  young  man's  life." 

'*  Nonsense  !  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  Miette 
knows  very  well  all  the  follies  committed  by  her  brother 
when  he  studied  law  in  Paris,  and  I  do  not  believe  Henri 


8  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

has  a  quarter  as  many  to  reproach  himself  with.  How- 
ever, Miette  never  manifested  any  disquietude  or  vexation  ; 
she  received  her  brother  with  open  arras  when  he  returned, 
two  years  since  as  much  a  seeker  after  adventures,  and  as 
little  of  a  lawyer,  as  possible.  She  helped  him  pay  his 
debts,  without  a  word  of  reproach  or  regret.  He  told 
this  to  me  not  long  since,  adding  that  his  sister  was  an 
angel  for  indulgence  and  generosity  ;  and  now  you  would 
like—"  * 

Henri,  who  returned  with  the  letter,  here  interrupted 
us.  This  letter  was  not  cold,  as  he  pretended.  Emilie 
was  never  v^ry  demonstrative,  and  her  habitual  modesty 
prevented  her  from  becoming  more  so  ;  but  it  was  plain 
that  she  was  under  the  influence  of  a  trouble  and  some 
kind  of  fright  in  her  own  home  that  were  entirely  unusual. 
"  Friendship,"  she  said,  "  is  indissoluble,  and  you  will 
always  find  in  me  a  devoted  sister ;  but  do  not  distress 
yourself  about  marriage ;  if  time  for  reflection  is  necessary 
for  you,  it  is  also  necessary  for  me,  and  we  have  made  no 
engagement  that  we  cannot  discuss  or  put  off,  according 
to  circumstances." 

"  You  will  remark,"  observed  Henri,  addressing  me, 
"that  she  calls  me  you^  instead  of  ihou^  for  the  first 
time." 

"  That  must  be  your  fault,"  I  replied.  "  Let  us  see  ! 
Come  to  the  fact.  Are  you  really  in  love,  yes  or  no,  with 
your  cousin  ?  " 

"In  love?" 

"  Yes,  passionately  in  love  ?  " 

"  He  is  at  a  loss  how  to  answer  you,"  said  my  wife. 
"  He  is  asking  himself,  perhaps,  if  he  ever  were  so." 

Henri  seized  the  line  his  mother  held  out.  "  Yes,"  he 
cried,  "  that  is  quite  true  !  I  do  not  know  if  the  respect- 
ful and  fraternal  sentiment  which  Miette  has  inspired  in 


THE  TO  WER  OF  PERCEMONT.  9 

me  from  childhood  can  be  called  love.  Passion  has  never 
mingled  witli  it  on  either  side." 

"  And  you  wish  for  passion  in  marriage  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  think  nothing  about  it ;  I  am  not  making  a  theory. 
I  wish  to  know  the  state  of  your  heart.  If  Miette 
Ormonde  loved  some  one  else,  you  would  be  perfectly 
satisfied?" 

Henri  turned  pale,  and  blushed  the  next  moment.  "  If 
she  loves  another,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  full  of  emotion, 
"  let  her  say  so  !  I  have  no  right  to  oppose  her,  and  I 
am  too  proud  to  allow  myself  to  reproach  her." 

"Come!  "  I  resumed  ;  "  the  thing  is  clear,  and  the 
case  is  settled.  Listen  :  we  dined  at  four  o'clock  ;  it  is 
now  hardly  six.  You  can  reach  your  cousin's  in  half  an 
hour.  You  will  take  Prunelle,  your  good  little  mare, 
who  has  not  been  used  much  during  your  absence,  and 
who  will  be  enchanted  to  carry  you.  You  have  nothing 
to  say  to  Miette,  excepting  that,  having  this  minute 
arrived,  you  hasten  to  grasp  her  hand  and  her  brother's. 
This  eagerness  is  the  most  concise  and  clear  explanation 
of  what  concerns  you.  You  will  see  whether  it  is  met 
with  pleasure  or  indifference.  Nothing  more  is  required 
for  a  young  man  of  spirit.  Welcomed  joyfully,  you  remain 
with  them  an  hour,  and  return  to  tell  us  your  triumph. 
Otherwise  guided  by  the  first  words,  you  come  back 
immediately  without  asking  anything  more.  It  is  very 
simple,  and  cuts  short  all  the  theories  we  could  construct, 
as  well  as  all  the  fine  words  we  could  say." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Henri ;  "  I  will  go  at  once." 


10  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Ix  order  to  pass  away  the  time,  my  wife  took  her  knit- 
ting while  I  amused  myself  with  a  book.  I  saw,  indeed, 
that  she  was  burning  to  contradict  and  quarrel  with  me, 
and  I  pretended  not  to  suspect  it ;  but  she  burst  out  at 
last,  and  I  let  her  alone  in  order  to  find  out  her  thoughts. 
I  discovered  that  her  son's  marriage  with  Miette  had 
become  undesirable  in  her  mind,  and  that  her  letters  or 
words  had  had  some  influence  in  the  estrangement  of 
the  lovers.  She  no  longer  loved  her  poor  niece,  and 
found  her  too  much  of  a  vine-dresser,  too  .humbly 'born, 
for  hej*  son  ;  her  fortune  was  suitable,  but  Henri  was  an 
only  son,  and  could  aspire  to  a  richer  heiress.  He  had 
luxurious  tastes  and  habits  which  Miette  would  never 
understand.  She  had  made  of  her  brother,  once  brilliant 
and  polished,  a  great  peasant,  fast  growing  into  unwieldy 
proportions.  She  had  all  the  virtues  as  well  as  all  the 
prejudice  and  obstinacy  of  a  countrywoman.  It  was 
allowable  to  think  of  this  marriage  when  Henri  was  still 
a  scholar  and  a  provincial.  Now  that  he  had  come  back 
from  Paris  in  all  the  splendor  of  his  good  looks,  his 
clothes,  and  his  grand  manners,  he  must  seek  for  a  girl  of 
birth,  one  capable  of  shining  in  society. 

I  listened  to  all  this  in  silence,  and  when  it  was  ended 
I  said  : — "  Do  you  wish  me  to  draw  a  conclusion  ?  " 

"Yes;  speak." 

"Well,  if  this  marriage  is  detestable,  it  is  neither 
Henri's  nor  Miette's  fault;  it  is  the  fault  of  the  great 
Tower  of  Percemont !  " 

« Indeed! " 


THE  TOWER  OP  PERCEMONT.  11 

"Yes;  without  this  accursed  tower  we  should  have 
always  been  the  good  and  happy  citizens  of  former  times, 
and  should  not  have  found  my  sister's  children  too  mucl! 
like  peasants ;  but  since  we  have  machicolations  above 
our  vines,  and  an  ornamented  door  to  our  winepress — " 

*'  A  winepress  !  You  intend  to  make  a  winepress  of 
our  chateau  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  dear  friend;  and  if  this  does  not  put  an 
end  to  your  folly,  I  intend  to  demolish  the  old  shed  !  " 

*'  You  cannot  do  that !  "  cried  Madame  Chantebel, 
indignantly.  "  The  chateau  is  your  son's,  you  gave  it  to 
him." 

"  When  he  sees  that  the  chateau  has  turned  your 
brain,  he  will  help  me  to  demolish  it." 

My  wife  was  afraid  of  raillery.  She  grew  calm,  and 
promised  to  wait  patiently  for  Emilie's  decision ;  but  she 
soon  had  a  new  source  of  agitation.  The  hours  passed, 
and  Henri  did  not  return.  I  was  rejoiced ;  I  thought 
his  cousins  had  kept  him,  and  that  all  three  were  very 
happy  in  seeing  each  other  once  more.  At  last  it  was 
midnight,  and  my  wife,  fearing  some  accident,  was  con- 
tinually going  from  the  garden  to  the  road,  when  the 
steps  of  Henri's  little  mare  were  heard,  and  a  moment 
after  he  was  with  us. 

"Nothing  has  happened  to  me,"  he  replied  to  his 
mother,  who  questioned  him  with  great  anxiety.  "  I  saw 
Emilie  a  moment,  and  I  learned  that  her  brother  had 
been  living  for  a  month  on  his  farm  in  Champgousse, 
where  he  is  having  a  Ikrge  building  put  up.  Emilie, 
being  alone  at  home,  gave  me  to  understand  that  I  must 
not  prolong  my  visit ;  and,  as  it  was  still  early,  I  directed 
my  course  to  Champgousse  to  see  Jacques.  I  did  not 
remember  the  road,  and  went  further  than  was  necessary. 
At  last  I  saw  Jacques,  talked  and  smoked  an   hour  with 


12  TlfK   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

liim,  and  here  I  am  after  riding  three  leagues  on  my  way 
back  through  intricate  paths  which,  without  the  in- 
tt  lligence.of  my  horse,  I  should  not  easily  have  recognizcfl 
in  the  obscurity." 

"And  how  did  Emilie  receive  you?"  asked  Madame 
Chantehel. 

"  Very  pleasantly,"  replied  Henri,  "  as  nearly  as  I 
could  judge  in  so  short  a  time." 

"No  chiding,  no  reproaches?" 

"  None  at  all." 

"  And  Jacques  ?  " 

"  He  was  as  cordial  as  usual." 
/       "  Then  nothing  is  decided  ?  " 

'*  The  subject  of  marriage  was  not  agitated.  That  is 
a  question  we  must  discuss  with  you." 

My  wife,  reassured,  retired  to  her  room,  and  Henri 
immediately  took  my  arm  and  drew  me  to  the  garden. 
"  I  must  speak  to  you,"  he  said.  "  What  I  have  to  tell 
you  is  very  delicate,  and  I  feared  that  my  mother  would 
take  the  matter  so  much  to  heart  that  she  would  not  be 
prudent.     This  is  what  occurred." 

"Sit  down,"  I  said,  "and  I  will  listen  to  you." 

Henri,  very  much  troubled,  related  to  me  what  fol- 
lows. 


CHAPTER  III. 


"  First,  I  must  tell  you  the  state  of  my  feelings  when 

I  was  going  to  see  Emilie.     It  is   very  true  that  before 

/quitting  Parisian  life  I  had  a  feeling  of  terror  in  thinking 

/  of  mai-riage.     The  ideal  dreamed  of  in  my  early^youth 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  13 

had  grown  fainter  year  after  year  in  the  feverish  atmos- 
phere of  the  capital.  You  saw  me  so  in  love  with  my 
cousin  when  I  began  my  study  of  the  law  that  you  were 
afraid — I  well  understood  it — of  my  progress  in  my 
studies  being  retarded  by  my  impatience  to  get  through 
with  them.  You  did  not  understand  that  this  fervor- of 
love  and  marriage  was  a  phase  of  collegiate  life,  and 
found  its  natural  place  between  the  baccalaureate  and 
the  first  law-entry.  Perhaps  you  did  not  foresee  that 
the  impatience  would  very  soon  be  calmed,  and  possibly 
desiring  this  marriage  as  you  did,  you  would  have  done 
better  to  allow  me  to  come  home  at  the  vacations.  You 
thought  it  your  duty  to  divert  me  from  an  anxiety  which 
I  never  felt  after  the  first  year's  absence.  You  passed 
your  own  vacations  with  me,  travelled  with  me,  took  me 
to  the  seaside,  to  Switzerland,  and  then  to  Florence  and 
Rome — in  short,  you  so  well  fulfilled  your  duty  that  I 
did  not  see  Emilie  for  four  years.  The  result  is  that  I"! 
dreaded  to  see  her  again  lest  I  should  find  her  no  longer 
as  charming  as  she  had  appeared  to  me  in  the  splendor 
of  her  eighteen  years.  -^ 

"  I  thought  of  this  while  galloping  towards  her  abode 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  and  felt  tempted  to  moderate  ' 
the  ardor  of  Prunelle,  who  went  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind.  She  was  constrained,  however,  to  do  this  for  her- 
self as  we  approached  Yignolette,  and  went  at  a  slow 
pace  up  the  sandy  ascent  that  has  to  be  climbed  to  gain 
a  view  of  the  roof  of  the  house  buried  in  the  foliage. 
There  my  disturbed  mind  at  once  grew  calm,  and  an  in- 
describably tender  emotion  took  possession  of  my  heart. 
The  evening  was  beautiful;  there  was  a  golden  glow  in 
tlie  heavens  and  on  the  earth.  The  mountains  appeared 
in  the  mists  of  a  rosy  violet  tint.  The  road  shone  under 
my  feet  like  the  dust  of  rubies.     The  vines  waved  play- 


14  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

fully  on  the  hills,  and  the  great  purpled  branches,  loaded 
with  fruit  already  black,  stood  erect  and  hung  in  abun- 
dant festoons  over  my  head.  Pardon  me,  I  have  written 
poetry  !  My  happy,  youthful  days  returned  once  more. 
I  dreamed  over  the  scenes  of  my  forgotten  pastorals.  I 
fancied  myself  transported  to  the  time  when,  in  my 
collegian's  garb — too  short  for  my  great  lean  arms — ^I  ap- 
proached with  a  palpitating  heart  the  abode  of  my  little 
cousin,  then  so  pretty,  gracious,  and  confiding !  I  recom- 
menced my  love-dreams,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  hopes 
and  desires  wbicb  Had  taken  entire  possession  of  my  be- 
ing could  not  be  a  vain  illusion.  I  spurred  on  my  horse, 
and  arrived,  panting,  feverish,  fearful,  and  passionately 
in  love  as  when  I  was  seventeen  years  old  ! 

"  Do  not  be  impatient,  my  father.  I  must  sum  up 
what  a  few  hours  ago  was  the  past,  a  past  already  more 
than  a  century  from  the  present.  I  trembled  when  knock- 
ing at  the  door,  that  little  door  painted  green,  still  frayed 
and  mended  with  great  nails  as  in  former  times.  I  took 
pleasure  in  recognizing  every  object,and  in  finding  the  wild 
honeysuckle  shading  the  rustic  entrance  as  fresh  as  ever 
and  grown  into  a  great  bush.  Formerly  an  iron  wire  ex- 
tending along  this  arbor  of  vines  was  sufficient  to  give 
entrance  to  familiar  acquaintances  without  troubling  any 
one;  but  this  hospitable  confidence  had  disappeared;  I 
had  to  wait  at  least  five  minutes.  I  said  to  myself : 
'Emilie  is  alone,  and  perhaps  she  is  at  the  end  of  the  en- 
closure. It  takes  time  to  cross  the  vineyard,  but  she 
must  have  recognized  my  peculiar  way  of  knocking;  she 
will  come  and  open  the  door  for  me  herself  as  in  the  old 
times ! ' 

"  She  did  not  come  ;  old  Nicole  opened  the  door  and 
took  hold  of  my  horse's  bridle  with  an  eagerness  full  of 
trouble.     '  Enter,  enter,  M.  Henri !     Yes,  yes,  mademoi 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  15 

selle  is  very  well ;  she  is  at  home,  M.  Henri ;  you  must 
excuse  us,  iu  is  washing-day,  our  people  have  all  gone  to 
the  river  to  bring  back  the  linen  ;  this  is  the  reason  you 
had  to  wait.  You  know  very  well,  M.  Henri,  these  are 
the  days  when  everything  is  topsy-turvy.' 

"I  quickly  cleared  the  long  and  narrow  walk,  too 
long  at  least  for  my  liking  !  Formerly  they  recognized 
my  voice  at  a  distance,  and  Jacques  ran  to  meet  me. 
Jacques  was  absent.  Emilie  came  to  meet  me  at  the 
head  of  the  flight  of  steps.  She  held  out  her  hand  first ; 
but  there  was  more  terror  than  joy  in  her  surprise  at 
seeing  me.  She  was  dressed  as  she  used  to  be,  in  a  half- 
girlish  fashion,  the  muslin  dress  well  turned  back  on  the 
hips,  the  silk  apron  trimmed  with  lace,  th^  little  straw 
hat  of  peasant-shape  turned  back  behind  over  her  magni- 
ficent braids  of  brown  hair.  She  was  still  as  pretty  as 
ever,  perhaps  even  prettier!  Her  fresh  countenance  had 
become  a  little  more  oval  in  form,  her  eyes  were  larger, 
and  a  serious  expression  rendered  her  glance  more  pene- 
trating, her  smile  more  full  of  meaning.  I  do  not  know 
what  we  said  to  each  other ;  we  were  both  very  much 
moved.  We  asked  about  the  news,  and  did  not  listen  to 
the  answers. 

"  I  understood  at  last  that  Jacques  (Jaquet,  as  she 
always  calls  him)  was  putting  up  some  buildings  on  a 
farm  a  couple  of  leagues  away.  Champgousse  is  his  part 
of  the  inheritance.  For  a  long  time  the  stables  and  barns 
bad  l)een  going  to  ruin.  He  did  not  wish  to  trust  the 
work  to  a  contractor,  who  would  have  charged  him  a 
high  price  without  doing  things  to  suit  him.  He  had, 
therefore,  installed  himself  with  his  tenants,  so  as  to  be 
there  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  and  watch  the  labor  of  hifl 
workmen. 

" '  But  he  comes  to  see  you  every  day  ? ' 


16  "        THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

"  'N"©  it  is  too  far  away;  it  would  keep  him  up  very 
late.  I  am  going  to  see  him  next  Sunday,  to  make  sure 
that  he  does  not  want  for  anything.' 

"  '  It  must  be  very  tedious  for  him  to  be  there  alone  ? ' 

"  '  No,  he  is  so  busy  ! ' 

"  '  But  does  not  this  solitude  make  you  sad  ? ' 

"  '  I  have  no  time  to  think  of  it ;  there  is  always  so 
much  to  do  when  one  has  a  home  to  look  after.' 

"  '  You  should  come  and  live  with  us  ! ' 

"  '  That  is  impossible.' 

"  '  You  are,  then,  still  a  model  housekeeper?  ' 

" '  It  is  necessary.' 

" '  And  you  like  this  austere  life  ?  ' 

"  '  As  well  as  I  ever  did.' 

"  '  You  do  not  think—' 

"'Of  what?' 

" '  Of  being  two  to—' 

"  I  believe  I  came  near  committing  myself,  when 
Emilie  rose  abruptly  as  she  heard  the  creaking  of  the  din- 
ing-room door  adjoining  the  drawing-room ;  she  rushed 
forward  in  that  direction,  and  I  heard  her  say  very  dis- 
tinctly,' He  is  there — do  not  let  him  see  you  ! ' 

"You  start  with  surprise,  father.  I  felt  a  rending  of 
the  heart.  I  heard  the  door  shut,  and  Emilie  returned, 
absent-minded  and  constrained,  and  asked  me  some  idle 
questions  about  your  health  and  what  you  were  doing; 
although  she  knows  everything  that  concerns  you,  and  it 
was  I  rather  who  should  have  learned  the  news  from  her. 
I  saw  that  my  presence  was  simply  torture  to  her,  and 
that  her  eyes  watched  the  clock  in  spite  of  herself  so  as 
to  count  the  insupportable  minutes  of  my  stay.  I  took  up 
my  hat,  saying  that  as  yet  I  had  scarcely  seen  you,  and,  be- 
sides, I  was  unwilling  to  encroach  further  upon  her  time. 
'  You  are  right,'  she  replied.     '  You  cannot  come  here  as 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  17 

you  used  to — I  am  alone  in  the  house,  and  it  would 
not  be  proper ;  but  if  you  will  go  next  Sunday  to  see 
Jaquet  at  Champgousse,  we  shall  meet  there.'  I  do  not 
remember  if  I  made  any  reply.  I  hurried  off,  running  as 
if  my  clothes  were  on  fire,  fetched  Prunelle  from  the 
stable,  and  started  at  full  speed  on  the  road  home.  And  " 
then  I  suddenly  stopped  short,  asking  myself  if  I  were 
dreaming,  and  if  I  were  not  insane.  '  Miette  Ormonde  ^ 
unfaithful,  or  concealing  a  lover  in  her  house  !  No  it  is 
impossible,'  I  said  ;  '  but  I  wish  to  know  and  I  will  know ! 
I  will  go  and  see  Jacques.  I  will  question  him  frankly. 
He  is  an  upright  man ;  he  is  my  friend,  and  will  tell  me 
the  truth.' 

"  I  took  the  cross  road  that  leads  to  Champgousse.  I 
lost  my  way  at  times,  for  it  was  entirely  dark.  At  last  I 
arrive  in  the  obscurity,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  mass  of 
buildings,  which  do  not  appear  to  me  noticeably  changed. 
I  dismount  in  the  midst  of  furious  dogs.  I  look  for  the 
door  of  the  master's  dwelling,  when  suddenly  it  half  opens. 
In  the  light  projected  from  the  interior,  I  detect  the 
huge  form  of  Jacques  Ormonde  in  the  dress  of  one  just 
risen  from  his  bed. 

"  He  throws  himself  into  my  arms,  clasps  me  vigorous- 
ly in  his,  cried  out  that  he  had  gone  to  bed,  and  that  he 
was  very  near  taking  his  gun  to  receive  me,  for  he  thought 
it  was  a  robber,  the  dog  made  such  an  uproar.  He  took 
possession  of  Prunelle,  and,  still  half  naked,  led  her  himself 
to  the  stable,  where  I  followed  to  assist  him  in  unbridling 
her.  '  Let  me  do  it,'  he  said,  '  you  cannot  see.  I  see  in 
the  night  like  an  owl,  and  then  I  know  where  to  find 
everything.'  In  truth,  he  makes  all  the  arrangements, 
gives  water,  grain,  forage,  to  his  *  little  friend  Prunelle, 
returns  without  having  awoke  any  one,  distributes  plenti- 
ful kicks  to  his  dogs,  who  still  growl  at  me,  makes  me 


18  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

enter  bis  sitting-room,  the  sole  luxury  of  which  consists  in 
guns  of  all  calibres  and  pipes  of  all  dimensions.  There 
were  neither  books,  an  inkstand,  nor  pens ;  all  was  exactly- 
like  his  student's  room  in  the  Latin  Quarter  at  Paris. 

" '  Ah !  how  long  is  it  since  you  arrived  in  the 
country  ? ' 

" '  Only  since  this  afternoon.' 

"  '  And  you  come  to  see  me  immediately  ?  That  is 
pleasant,  indeed  ;  and  I  thank  you.  How  are  they  all  at 
your  house  ?  I  believe,  it  is  more  than  a  month  since  I 
have  seen  your  parents.  I  have  so  much  to  do  here  I  I 
cannot  leave  ;  but  they  knew  where  I  had  pitched  my 
tent  this  time,  since  you  surprise  me  here.' 

"  *  They  knew  absolutely  nothing,  for  they  sent  me  to 
Yignolette,  where  I  expected  to  find  you.' 

*'  Here  Jaquet's  expressive  face  became  distorted,  and 
the  great  fellow  blushed  like  a  young  woman  might  have 
done  at  the  least  surprise.  He  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  full 
of  alarm  and  anxiety  :  '  You  come  from  Vignolette  ?  You 
have  seen  my  sister  ?  ^ 

"  '  Reassure  yourself,'  I  replied  ;  *  I  have  seen  no  one 
but  her.' 

"  *  You  have  seen  only  her  ?  She  has,  then,  told 
you — ' 

" '  She  has  told  me  everything,'  I  replied,  with  assur- 
ance, wishing  at  any  price  to  profit  by  his  emotion  in 
order  to  extract  the  truth  from  him. 

"  '  She  told  you — but  you  did  not  see  the  other  f 

"  *•  I  did  not  see  the  other.' 

"  '  She  told  you  her  name  ? ' 

"  *  She  did  not  tell  me  her  name.' 

*'  *  She  intrusted  the  secret  to  you  ? 

**  *  She  intrusted  nothing  to  me.' 

"  '  Ah,  well !     I  ask  as  a  matter  of  honor,  and  in  the 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  19 

name  of  the  friendship  you  have  for  us,  that  you  will  not 
breathe  a  word  of  what  you  have  found  out !  Will  you 
swear  not  to  reveal  it  ?  ' 

"  '  1  have  no  need  to  swear  when  Emilie's  honor  is  at 
stake.' 

"  '  That  is  right.  I  am  an  idiot.  But  you  must  take 
some  refreshment,  and  smoke  a  pipe,  a  cigar — which  do 
you  prefer  ?  Take  your  choice  ;  I  am  going  down  into 
the  cellar.' 

" '-  Do  not  give  yourself  so  much  trouble.' 

"  '  It  is  very  little  trouble,'  he  replied,  opening  a  trap- 
door in  the  middle  of  the  room.  My  provision  is  always 
at  hand.' 

"And  in  a  moment  he  descended  two  steps,  and 
returned,  bearing  a  basketful  of  bottles  of  every  growth 
in  his  vineyard. 

"  *  Thank  you,'  I  said,  '  but  I  have  lost  the  habit  of 
drinking  wine  in  the  way  of  refreshment.  Have  you  any 
eau  piquante  f ' 

" '  I  should  think  so  ;  the  acidulated  source  runs  at  my 
door.  Here  it  is  entirely  fresh ;  put  a  little  brandy  in  it. 
Hold  !  here  is  the  cognac  and  sugar  ;  mix  some  grog  for 
yourself.' 

"  I  saw,  while  I  was  mixing  according  to  my  taste, 
that  he  uncorked  his  own  wine,  to  drink  himself;  and, 
knowing  liow  wine  loosens  the  tongue,  I  feigned  a  great 
thirst,  to  induce  him  to  drink  as  well.  I  hoped  for  the 
revelation  of  the  grand  secret ;  but  it  was  lost  labor  for 
him  to  swallow  the  wine  of  his  hills  ;  he  always  changed 
the  conversation  with  an  address  of  which  I  did  not 
believe  him  capable.  Besides,  I  quickly  gave  up  the  role. 
Why  did  I  want  to  know  the  name  of  the  man  who  had 
taken  possession  of  my  place  in  Emilie's  heart?  She 
ought  to  have  said  to  me  frankly  ;  'I  do  not  love  you  any 


20  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

longer;  I  am  going  to  marry  some  one  else.'  Jacques 
appeared  to  think  that  she  had  told  me  so.  I  wished  to 
go  directly  to  the  point,  and  interrupted  him  in  the  midst 
of  his  digressions  by  saying,  •  Let  us  talk  about  serious 
affairs.     When  is  the  marriage  to  take  place  ?  ' 

"  '  My  marriage  ? '  replied  he.  '  Well,  I  must  wait  i 
month  before  I  am  able  to  declare  myself  openly.' 

"  *  You  have,  then,  marriage  projects  on  your  owe 
account  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  great  projects;  but  do  not  ask  me  to  tell  you 
aiiything  more.  I  am  very  much  in  love,  and  I  hope  to 
marry — that  is  all.  A  month  hence  you  will  be  the  first 
one  in  w^hom  I  shall  confide.' 

"  '  That  is  to  say,  that  you  will  never  confide  in  me 
during  the  present  chapter,  for  in  a  month  you  will  have 
forgotten  it,  and  will  commence  another.' 

" '  It  is  true  that  I  am  unsteady.  I  have  given  too 
many  proofs  of  this  to  deny  it ;  but  this  time  it  is  serious, 
very  serious,  upon  my  word  of  lionor  !' 

" '  So  be  it  ;  but  I  did  not  speak  of  your  marriage 
Do  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  me.  I  spoke  of  Emilie's 
marriage.' 

"  ^  Of  my  sister's  marriage  with  you?  Ah!  so  it  is 
again  under  discussion !  Well,  I  regret  it  very  much,  I 
can  assure  you  ! ' 

u  4  u  Again  under  discussion  "  is  a  charming  expres- 
sion ! '  I  exclaimed  bitterly. 

"  He  did  not  allow  me  to  continue.  *  WelL  yes,'  he 
said,  '  it  is  broken  off.  You  ought  not  to  complain,  for  it 
is  according  to  your  own  wish.  Did  you  not  write  to 
Miette,  a  month  or  six  weeks  since,  a  kind  of  veiled  con- 
fession, in  which  you  doubted  the  possibility  of  her  pardon, 
and  appeared  to  submit  to  her  refusal,  with  a  very 
resigned  sorrow?     I  understood  it  all  very  well,  and, 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  21 

questioned  by  her,  I  told  her  in  a  pleasant  way  that  the 
enjoyments  of  youth  were  nothing  grave,  and  did  not 
prevent  true  love  from  again  becoming  serious.  She  did 
not  know  what  I  meant ;  and  asked  me  a  number  of 
questions  too  delicate  for  me  to  reply  to.  Then  she  went 
to  see  your  parents  ;  your  father  was  not  at  hom6.  She 
talked  with  your  mother,  who  did  not  conceal  from  her 
that  you  were  leading  a  gay  life  in  Paris,  and  laughed  in 
her  face  when  she  manifested  astonishment.  My  dear 
aunt  is  sometimes  too  frank.  She  gave  Miette  clearly  to 
understand  that,  if  your  infidelity  scandalized  her,  the 
family  would  be  easily  consoled  in  spite  of  her,  and  that 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  procuring  a  finer  establish- 
ment for  you.  Poor  Miette  was  utterly  cast  down,  and 
repeated  to  me  the  conversation,  without  any  reflections 
of  her  own.  I  wished  to  console  her ;  she  said,  "  It  is 
unnecessary  for  any  one  to  teach  me  what  my  duty  is  ;  '* 
and,  if  she  wept  I  did  not  see  it.  I  think  she  has  had  a 
great  sorrow,  but  is  too  proud  to  own  it,  and  now  she 
knows  of  your  mother's  aversion  to  the  marriage,  I  do 
not  believe  she  will  ever  hear  it  spoken  of.' 

"  Surprised  and  angry  at  learning  that  my  mother 
indulged  such  feelings,  but  not  wishing  to  hear  from  those 
she  had  wounded  their  grievances  against  her — feeling, 
besides,  that  the  first  wrong  had  come  from  me,  and  that 
in  my  student's  life  I  had  allowed  my  infidelity  to  be  too 
apparent — I  asked  Jacques  to  allow  me  to  leave.  '  I  am 
tired,'  I  said ;  'I  have  a  headache,  and,  if  I  am  vexed,  I 
do  not  wish  to  yield  to  my  feelings  at  this  moment.  We 
will  put  off  the  explanation  to  another  day.  When  will 
you  come  to  lunch  with  me  ? ' 

"  '  You,'  he  replied,  '  must  pass  the  day  with  me  ou 
Sunday.  Miette  will  be  here,  and  you  can  talk  the  matter 
over  together.      You   will   then    have   consulted  your 


22  THE   TO  WER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

parents,  .'ind  will  know  if  ray  sister's  pride  was  voluntarily 
wounded  ;  and,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  regret  it,  you  will 
afterwards  become  good  friends.' 

*' '  Yes,  we  shall  become  brother  and  sister  ;  for  I  j^re- 
sume  she  will  tell  me  frankly  what  she  ought  to  have 
told  me  this  evening.' 

"  Thereupon  we  separated — he  still  gay,  I  sad  as  death. 
I  had,  indeed,  a  frightful  headache,  which  was  relieved  by 
the  fresh  air;  and  now^  I  am  stupid  and  bruised  like  a 
man  who  has  just  fallen  from  the  roof  of  a  house  on  to 
the  pavement."'' 

When  my  son  had  finished  speaking,  we  looked  at 
each  other  earnestly,  for,  while  telling  the  story,  he  had 
followed  me  into  the  drawing-room.  "I  am  very  well 
satisfied  with  your. recital,"  I  said  ;  "it  is  comparatively 
clear  at  the  first  view.  However,  if  I  had,  like  a  judge, 
to  take  into  consideration  the  detailed  deposition  of  a 
witness,  I  should  reproach  you  for  not  being  very  clear- 
sighted ;  I  should  ask  if  it  were  very  certain  that  you 
found  a  man  in  Miette  Ormonde's  house." 

"I  am  sure  of  the  words  I  heard.  Would  she  have 
said  to  a  woman,  in  speaking  of  me,  '  He  is  there — do 
not  let  him  see  you  ?'     Besides,  Jacques'  confession — " 

"  Presents  to  my  judgment  some  singular  ambigui- 
ties." 

"  In  wiiat  way  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  exactly  say.  I  must  reflect  carefully,  and 
make  a  serious  inquiry.  I  will  spare  no  pains,  if  it  is 
necessary — that  is,  if  you  are  still  interested  in  Emilie. 
Do  you  really  love  her  very  much  ?  Is  the  trouble  in 
w^hich  I  now  see  you  simply  the  result  of  wounded  pride  ? 
Are  you  offended  to  find  Emilie  go  susceptible  and  so 
quickly  consoled  ?  In  that  case  your  reason  and  your 
goodness  of  heart  will  soon  gain  the  ascendency.     The 


c>» 


THE  TOWER  OF  PESS^^EJ^QNT. 

affair  will  clear  up  of  ityelf ;  either  ErS8iet5i^-.bfi^j^i- 
fied,  and  you  will  still  love  each  other,  or  she  will  avow 
her  engagement  with  another,  and  you  will  go  philosoph- 
ically to  her  wedding.  But  if,  as  I  think,  your  sorrow  is 
sufficiently  deep — if  there  is  grieved  and  wounded  love  in 
your  heart — then  Einilie  must  return  to  you,  and  send 
away  the  suitor  who  has  insinuated  himself  into  her 
favor  to  take  advantage  of  her  vexation  at  your  absence." 

"  Emilie  ought  not  to  have  received  the  attentions  of 
this  pretender.  She  should  have  known  that  I  was  not  a 
man  to  contend  for  a  wife  who  compromised  her  reputa- 
tion, and  gave  herself  up  to  vengeance.  I  regarded  her 
as  a  kind  of  saint;  she  is  now  no  more  in  my  estimation 
than  an  inconsistent  and  undio^nified  little  villaore  co- 
quette." 

"  Then  you  ought  not  to  regret  her,  and  you  do  not 
regret  her  ?  " 

''N'o,  father,  I  do  not  regret  her.  I  had  no  longer  any 
desire  to  be  married ;  but  if  I  had  found  her  such  as  I 
knew^  her,  or  .thouglit  I  knew  her,  I  would  have  offered 
her  my  hand  and  heart  out  of  respect  to  her  and  to  you. 
Now  I  am  rejoiced  to  be  able  to  break  the  bond  without 
grieving  you,  and  without  caring  myself  for  any  regret 
she  will  feel." 

I  could  not  obtain  from  my  son  any  more  softened 
avowal  of  his  sorrow.  He  was  so  inflexible  and  stern  as 
to  disturb  the  first  opinion  that  I  had  formed,  leading  me 
to  think  he  would  be  easily  consoled.  It  was  late  ;  we 
agreed  to  say  nothing  to  my  wife,  and  to  put  off  to  the 
next  day  our  calm  judgment  upon  the  strange  event  of 
the  evening. 


24  *  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 


CHAPTER  lY. 

Henri  slept  late  the' next  morning,  and  I  had  no 
leisure  to  talk  with  him.  At  nine  o'clock  my  wife  an- 
nounced to  me  the  arrival  of  the  Countess  de  Nives.  I 
was  just  getting  ready  to  shave  myself,  and  begged 
Madame  Chant ebel  to  entertain  this  client  until  I  was 
ready. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  dare  not.  I  am  not  fashionable 
enough.  This  lady  is  so  beautiful,  she  has  so  noble  an 
air,  and  such  a  magnificent  carriage  and  horses — ah  !  true 
English  horses,  a  coachman  who  looks  like  a  lord,  and  a 
footman  in  livery  !  " 

''  All  that  dazzles  you,  lady  of  Percemont !  " 

"  This  is  not  the  time  to  jest,  M.  Chantebel.  What 
are  you  doing  there,  wiping  your  razor  a  dozen  times  ? 
Make  haste !  " 

"  I  cannot  cut  my  throat  to  please  you.  To-day  how 
eager  you  are  to  see  me  run  after  this  countess !  Yester- 
day you  blamed  me  for  accepting  her  as  a  client  so 
quickly ! " 

"  I  had  not  seen  her.  I  did  not  think  she  held  so  high 
a  position  in  the  fashionable  world.  Well !  here  are  your 
white  cravat  and  your  black  coat." 

*'  No,  indeed  !  we  are  in  the  country  ;  I  will  not  ap- 
pear in  full  dress  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  my  wife,  putting  on,  in  spite  of 
me,  the  dress-cravat.  "  I  wish  you  to  look  like  what  you 
are!" 

To  cut  the  matter  short,  I  was  obliged  to  yield,  and 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  25 

I  passed  into  my  private  room,  where  Madame  de  Nives 
awaited  me.  I  had  never  seen  her  excepting  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  did  not  expect  to  find  her  still  so  young  and 
beautiful.  She  was  a  woman  of  about  forty  years  of  age. 
tall,  blonde,  and  slender.  Her  manners  were  excellent. 
Excepting  for  the  romance  of  her  life,  which  I  knew 
grosso  modo^  her  reputation  was  irreproachable. 

"  I  come,  sir,"  she  said,  "  to  ask  counsel  in  a  very  deli, 
cate  affair,  and  you  will  allow  me  to  tell  you  my  story, 
of  which  you  probably  do  not  know  the  details.  If  I  en- 
croach upon  your  time — " 

"  My  time  is  yours,"  I  replied,  and,  having  seated  her 
in  an  easy-chair,  I  listened. 

*'  My  name  is  Alix  Dumont.  I  belong  to  an  honor- 
able but  poor  family,  who  brought  me  up  with  the  expec- 
tation of  my  having  to  earn  my  own  living.  I  was  a 
teacher  in  various  boarding-schools  for  young  ladies. 
When  I  was  twentyrtwo  years  old  I  entered  the  servioe 
of  the  Countess  de  Nives,  as  governess  for  her  only 
daughter,  Marie,  then  ten  years  old. 

"  Madame  de  Nives  treated  me  with  much  esteem  and 
confidence.  "W^ithout  her  kind  consideration,  I  could  not 
have  endured  Marie's  undisciplined  character  and  fantas- 
tic caprices.  She  was  an  unreasonable  and  heartless 
child,  whom  no  one  could  restrain.  This  sad  duty  was 
very  painful  to  me  ;  and  when,  two  years  later,  Madame 
de  Nives  died,  commending  her  daughter  to  my  care,  I 
begged  the  Count  de  Nives  to  spare  me  a  task  beyond 
my  strength  :  I  wished  to  go  away. 

"  He  would  not  allow  me  to  leave  ;  he  entreated,  said 
that  without  me  his  way  of  living  would  be  broken  up, 
and  his  daughter  abandoned  to  the  chances  of  an  educa- 
tion that  he  did  not  know  how  to  direct.  I  was  obliged 
to  yield ;  he  placed  me  at  the  head  of  the  house ;  and 


26  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

Marie,  who  knew  she  would  be  compelled  to  enter  a  con- 
vent if  I  left,  put  more  restraint  upon  herself,  and  begged 
me  to  remain. 

"The  Count  de  Nives,  after  having  been  a  widower 
for  a  year,  announced  to  me  that  he  wished  to  marry 
again,  and  that  he  had  chosen  me  for  the  companion  of 
his  life.  I  refused,  on  account  of  the  child,  whose  aver- 
sion, I  foresaw,  would  be  always  ready  to  burst  forth ; 
and,  when  he  insisted,  I  took  flight,  without  letting  him 
know  where  I  went.  I  remained  concealed  for  several 
months  with  some  of  my  old  friends.  He  discovered  my 
retreat,  and  came  to  entreat  me  once  more  to  accept  his 
proposal.  He  had  sent  Marie  to  a  convent.  She  accuses 
me  to  this  day  of  having  separated  her  from  her  father. 
On  the  contrary,  I  did  my  best  to  bring  her  back  to  him. 
The  count  was  inflexible  towards  her  even  on  his  death- 
bed. 

"  Beset  by  a  passion  which  in  spite  of  myself  I  began 
to  sliare,  pressed  by  my  friends  to  accept  the  honorable 
offer  of  M.  de  Nives,  I  became  his  wife,  and  am  now  the 
mother  of  a  daughter.  Her  name  is  Leonie  ;  she  is  seven 
years  old,  and  the  living  portrait  of  her  father. 

"I  was  happy,  for  I  always  cherished  the  hope  of  rec- 
onciling my  husband  with  his  elder  daughter,  when  he 
met  with  a  fall  while  hunting\  and  only  survived  the  acci- 
dent a  few  days.  He  left  a  will  in  which  he  made  me 
Marie's  guardian,  conferring  upon  me  the  use  of  his  entire 
income  during  my  life ;  but  the  income  is  not  large ;  M. 
de  Nives's  fortune  came  from  his  first  wife.  The  estate 
that  I  control,  and  where  I  live  with  my  daughter,  be- 
longs entirely  to  Marie,  and  the  time  approaches  when 
this  young  perso*i  will  demand  the  account  of  my  guard- 
ianshijD,  contrary  to  her  father's  intention,  after  which  she 
will  tin-n  us  out  of  the  house." 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCE  MONT.  27 

Here  Madame  Alix  de  Nives  was  silent,  and  looked 
at  ine  to  find  out  my  oi)inion  without  giving  expression 
to  her  own  thoughts. 

"  You  wish  to  know,"  I  said,  "  some  means  of  elud- 
ing this  sad  necessity.  There  are  none.  By  M  de 
Nives's  will  he  bestowed  upon  you  the  use  of  all  his  prop- 
erty, relying  upon  your  character  and  loyalty  to  provide 
for  the  wants  and  the  establishment  of  his  two  daughters. 
He  could  not  confer  upon  you  the  right  to  dispose  of  the 
estate  of  his  deceased  wife.  Have  you  brought  the  will 
and  the  two  marriage-contracts  of  the  Count  de  Nives  ?  " 

"  Yes,  here  they  are."  -^ 

When  I  had  examined  the  documents,  I  saw  that  the 
deceased  had  di^ludedjiiraself  with  an  idea  that  his  wife 
had  also  shared.  He  believed  that  he  had  power  to 
leave  her  the  income  of  the  De  Nives  estate  so  long  as 
the  landed  property,  which  returned  by  law  to  Marie, 
was  lie  J  deteriorated  or  encroached  lipon. 

"  My  husband  took  advice  before  drawing  up  this 
will,"  said  the  countess,  with  a  doubtful  air,  seeing  me 
shrug  my  shoulders. 

"  He  could  take  advice,  madame,  but  no  trustworthy 
lawyer  could  have  counselled  him  to  make  a  will  like 
this." 

"  Excuse  me,  it  was — " 

'•  Do  not  tell  me  who,  for  I  am  forced  to  insist  that 
this  lawyer,  if  he  is  a  lawyer,  greatly  misled  him." 

The  countess  bit  her  lips  with  vexation.  "M.  de 
Nives,"  she  resumed,  "always  regarded  Marie  as  a  per- 
son without  judgment  or  reason,  and  ineapable  ©f  man- 
aging her  affairs.  He  destined  her  for  the  cloister.  If  he 
had  lived,  he  would  have  obliged  her  to  take  the  veil." 

"  M.  de  Nives  was  the  victim  of  an  illusion  in  this 
case   also  ',    ancient  families  sometimes  neglect  to  gain 


28  TOWER  OF  PEROEMONT. 

information  on  present  usages.  I  have  heard  that  M.  de 
Mves  did  not  always  take  into  account  what  has  been 
introduced  into  legislation  since  1789;  but  you,  madam e, 
who  are  still  young,  and  must  by  your  education  have 
overcome  certain  prejudices,  do  you  admit  that  a  legiti- 
mate heiress  can  be  forced  to  resign  her  rights  and  en- 
ter a  convent !" 

''  No,  but  the  law  can  place  her  in  custody  and  de- 
prive her  of  the  power  to  exercise  her  civil  rights  if  she 
has  given  proof  of  insanity." 

"  That  is  another  question  !  Is  Mademoiselle  Marie 
de  Nives  really  insane  ?" 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  it,  M.  Chantebel  ?" 

'^  I  have  heard  that  she  was  odd;  but  people  say  so 
many  things !" 

^'  Public  opinion  has,  however,  its  value." 

"Not  always." 

"  You  astonish  me,  sir;  public  opinion  is  on  my  side; 
it  has  always  done  me  justice;  it  would  still  be  for  me  if 
I  invoked  it." 

*'  Take  care,  madame  !  one  must  not  risk  too  much 
the  good  reputation  which  it  has  taken  long  to  acquire. 
I  believe  that  if  you  were  to  apply  for  a  judgment  of 
deprivation  of  civil  rights  against  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives,  you  would  create  many  partisans  for  her  who 
would  turn  against  yourself." 

"Does  that  mean,  sir,  that  you  are  already  preju- 
diced against  me  ?" 

"No,  madame;  I  have  the  honor  to  speak  to  you  to- 
day for  the  first  time,  and  I  have  never  seen  Mademoiselle 
de  Nives.  But  examine  your  situation.  Poor  and 
without  name,  but  beautiful  and  educated,  you  enter  a 
house  the  head  of  which,  soon  a  widower,  marries  you 
after  having  sent  away  one  whose  hostile  presence  would 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  29 

.create  nothing  but  trouble  and  sorrow  for  you.  This  is 
only  a  child,  his  own  daughter,  whom  he  sends  away, 
and  who  attributes  her  exile  to  you.  You  did,  you  say, 
your  best  to  bring  her  back  again.  It  is  unfortunate 
that  you  did  not  succeed;  it  is  unfortunate,  also,  that 
j^ur  husband's  will  reveals  a  preference  for  you  that 
effaces  all  paternal  affection  from  his  heart.  Certain 
persons  might  think  that  Mademoiselle  Marie's  misfor- 
tune is  your  work,  and,  if  she  is  insane,  that  you  have 
done  everything  to  make  her  so," 

"I  see,  M.  Chantebel,  that  your  ear  is  open  to  cruel 
insinuations  againt  me." 

"I  declare  that  it  is  not  so,  madame  !  My  judgment 
arises  from  the  situation  in  which  I  find  you  placed  and 
the  counsel  you  ask  of  me.  But  what  are  the  proofs  of 
insanity  which  your  stepdaughter  has  given  ?  " 

"  There  are  more  than  I  could  ever  tell  you.  Ever 
since  she  was  ten  years  old,  she  has  been  rebellious 
against  all  discipline,  furious  against  all  restraint.  Her 
nature  is  abnormal,  capable  of  every  kind  of  misconduct. 
I  dare  not  tell  you — " 

"  Tell  me  everything  or  nothing." 

"  Yery  well.  I  believe  that,  in  spite  of  the  seclusion 
of  the  convent,  she  has  found  means  more  than  once  to 
have  guilty  relations  with — " 

"  You  believe  this  ?  " 

"  And  you,  you  doubt  ?  Very  well !  I  must  trust 
you  with  a  very  grave  secret.  While  she  lived  with  the 
nuns  at  Riom  she  was  discovered  to  be  carrying  on  an 
intrigue  with  some  person  outside.  I  had  her  trans- 
ferred to  the  convent  of  Clermont,  which  is  more  severe  in 
its  discipline.  Do  you  know  what  she  did  there  ?  She 
disappeared  entirely,  sending  me  a  letter  ki  which  she 
declares  that  she  cannot  stay  in  that  conve«t — that  she 


30  THE  TOWER  OF  FEKCEMONT, 

is  going  to  Paris  to  enter  of  her  own  free  will  the  con- 
vent of  the  Sacre  Coeur,  where  she  will  remain  until  the 
day  of  her  majority." 

"  Indeed  !  Well  you  should  have  let  her  d©  this." 
"  Yes,  I  asked  nothing  better,  but  I  had  to  assure 
myself  that  this  pretended  change  of  community  did  not 
conceal  an  elopement  or  something  siill  worse.  I  at 
once  begged  the  nuns  of  Clermont  to  say  that  she  had 
run  away  to  return  to  my  house,  and  then  I  immediately 
hastened  to  Paris.  Marie  was  not  at  the  Sacre-Coeur; 
neither  was  she  in  any  other  convent  of  the  city  or  its 
environs.  She  has  evidently  fled  with  some  man,  for 
the  traces  of  very  large  feet  were  seen  on  the  gravel-walk 
of  the  garden  from  which  she  took  her  flight." 

"  This  is  not  insanity,  as  it  is  understood  in  forensic 
medicine.     It  is  simply  misconduct." 

"  This  misconduct  imposes  upon  the  guardian  the  duty 
of  finding  the  guilty  person  and  reinstating  her  in  some 
convent  of  the  most  severe  order." 

"  Agreed  !  Have  you  accomplished  this  ?  " 
"  No.  I  passed  a  whole  month  in  useless  search,  and 
tired  out,  I  returned  to  my  little  Leonie,  from  whom  I 
could  not  be  separated  any  longer.  I  did  not  wish  to 
trust  to  any  one  the  sorrowful  secret  that  you  have  just 
heard,  but  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  act,  and  I  come 
to  ask  you  what  I  ought  to  do.  Must  I  apply  to  the 
courts,  to  the  police,  or  to  whom,  in  order  to  have  Marie 
discovered  and  snatched  from  infamy  ?  Or  rather  must 
1  keep  silent,  conceal  her  disgrace,  and  suffer  her  to  ruin 
me  and  drive  me  away  from  my  husband's  house? 
Should  this  wicked  girl  be  declared  incapable  of  man- 
aging her  affairs,  she  will  still  have  to  thank  me  for  de- 
fending her  immodesty  under  the  plea  of  insanity.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  I  let  her  go  unpunished,  should  I  ful- 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  31 

ill  my  duty  to  my  own  daughter,  who  will  be  banished 
and  despoiled  without  my  having  made  an  attempt  to 
save  her  ?  " 

"  You  must  give  me  time  to  reflect,  and  to  review  all 
the  facts  with  you,  before  I  pronounce  an  opinion." 

"  But  time  presses,  sir  !  Marie  will  be  of  age  in  twenty- 
nine  days.  If  any  attempt  is  to  be  made,  it  would  be 
proper  to  announce  to  the  court  and  the  public  the  fact 
of  her  disappearance  before  she  gets  the  start  of  me  by 
putting  in  her  claims  and  entering  into  possession." 

"  If  she  is  ready  to  put  in  her  claims,  and  reappears 
at  the  appointed  time,  she  is  not  insane,  and  every  one 
will  believe  that  she  is  in  full  possession  of  her  reason. 
You  would  then  have  nothing  but  the  charge  of  miscon- 
duct against  her.  This  will  be  of  no  avail  from  the  day 
when  your  guardianship  ceases.  No  text  of  law  depriv 
a  girl  of  twenty-one  years  of  age,  who  was  simply  guilty 
of  a  folly  a  month  before,  of  her  rights  and  liberty. 
Something  else  would  be  necessary  besides  a  love-affair 
through  a  grating,  and  an  escape  over  the  walls  of  a 
convent,  to  prove  she  was  deprived  of  reason." 

Madame  de  Nives  listened  to  me  attentively,  and  her 
glance  questioned  me  with  grievous  intensity.  Was  she 
avaricious  of  money  and  comfort  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
risk  everything  to  avoid  having  to  make  restitution  ? 
Was  she  moved  by  maternal  love  or  by  one  of  those 
feminine  spites  which  render  the  reason  deaf  to  the  in- 
junctions to  follow  a  prudent  course  ?  Her  beauty  had 
at  the  first  view  a  character  of  distinction  and  serenity. 
At  this  moment  she  was  so  visibly  agitated  that  she 
raised  a  vague  sensation  of  fright  in  me,  as  if  the  devil  in 
person  had  come  to  ask  me  how  to  set  the  four  corners 
of  the  world  on  fire.  My  scrutinizing  look  made  her  own 
hesitate.     *'  Sir,"  she  said,  rising  and  taking  a  few  steps, 


ives\ 
lilty  I 


82  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT,     . 

as  if  she  had  cramps  in  her  limbs,  ''  you  are  very  hard  to 
persuade.  I  expected  to  find  in  you  counsel  and  support, 
whereas  I  find  an  examining  magistrate  who  wishes  to  be 
more  sure  than  I  am  myself  of  the  goodness  of  my  cause." 

"  It  is  my  duty,  madame.  I  am  not  at  the  commence- 
ment of  my  career ;  I  have  no  need  to  gain  a  name  by 
putting  my  talent  at  the  service  of  the  first  case  that 
presents  itself.  I  do  not  like  to  lose  a  suit,  and  all  the 
eulogies  which  the  whole  world  could  heap  upon  me  for 
having  pleaded  skilfully  would  not  console  me  for  having 
accepted  the  defence  of  a  bad  cause." 

"  It  is  because  such  is  your  character,"  replied  Ma- 
dame de  Nives,  in  a  caressing  tone,  "  it  is  because  you 
have  a  reputation  for  scrupulous  integrity,  it  is,  finally, 
because  a  cause  sustained  by  you  is  almost  always  a  cause 
gained  beforehand,  that  I  desire  to  trust  mine  to  you.  If 
you  refuse,  it  will  be  a  great  precedent  against  me." 

"  If  I  refuse,  madame,  it  is  very  easy  to  keep  the  step 
you  have  taken  in  coming  to  see  me  secret,  or  I  will 
explain  your  visit  in  any  way  you  please.  Whatever 
course  you  choose,  I  will  act  in  conformity  with  your 
wishes. 

"  Then  yon  refuse  to  go  further  ?  '' 

*'  I  have  not  refused — I  am  waiting  for  you  to  furnish 
me  with  proofs  that  will  satisfy  my  conscience." 

"  You  wish  for  more  details  about  Marie  de  Nives  ? 
"Well,  this  is  her  history.  I  have  told  you  her  character ; 
here  are  the  facts." 

The  countess  sat  down  again  in  the  easy-chair,  and 
spoke  thus  :  "  At  eleven  years  of  age  this  unhappy  child 
was  already  an  inexplicable  compound  of  delirious  folly 
and  profound  dissimulation.  You  think  these  two  traits 
of  character  are  incompatible.  You  are  mistaken.  Marie 
pretended  to  adore  her  mother,  and  perhaps  she  did  love 


fj 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  33 

her  after  her  own  fashion.  But  she  never  cared  for  the 
trouble  she  caused  her  if  she  could  only  run  at  random 
and  play  truant  with  the  little  peasants  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. Neither  did  she  care  for  her  mother's  suffering 
when  she  risked  her  life  in  dangerous  sports  with  boys. 
She  mounted  the  horses  in  the  fields,  and  galloped  with- 
out saddle  or  bridle,  at  the  risk  of  serious  accidents. 
She  climbed  trees ;  she  fell,  and  came  home  with  her 
clothes  torn  to  pieces  ;  frequently  she  was  even  wounded. 
Here  was  the  delirium,  the  passion  of  a  violent  nature. ' 

"  It  was  a  little  the  character  of  her  father,  I  have 
been  told." 

"Possibly,  sir.  He  was  passionate  and  impetuous; 
but  he  was  sincere,  and  Marie  is  skilfully  deceitful.  She 
will  invent  all  kinds  of  stories  to  lay  the  blame  of  her 
faults  upon  others.  When  her  mother  died  she  was  a 
prey  to  a  despair  that  seemed  to  me  sincere,  but  a  few 
days  after  she  again  began  to  play  and  to  run  wild." 

"  She  was  eleven  years  old  !  At  that  age  one  cannot 
weep  for  a  long  time  without  a  violent  reaction  in  the 
direction  of  active  life ;  that  sometimes  happens  even  to 
grown-up  persons." 

"  Yery  well,  sir  ;  you  are  pleading  for  her !  " 

ii.1  tell  you  I  am  not  acquainted  with  her." 

"  It  is  certain  that  you  are  prepossessed  in  her  favor  \ 
by  some  one.     Wait  a  moment — you  have  a  relation,  a 
niece,  I  think,  who  was  with  her  at  the  convent  at  Riom 
it  was  a  young  lady — pardon  me,  I  have  forgotten  her    . 
name.     Marie  called  her  her  dear  little  Miette." 

I  could  not  help  starting,  such  a  lively  commotion 
was  produced  in  my  brain.  The  person  concealed  the 
evening  before  at  Emilie's  house — concealed,  perhaps, 
for  a  month — to  whom  she  had  said,  "  Do  not  let  him 
see  you !  " — the  cross    purposes    between  Jacques  and 


34  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

my  son — that  hope  of  marriage  announced  oy  jacques, 
aud  which  he  would  perhaps  confide  to  my  son  in  a  month 
— those  large  footmarks  on  the  gravel-walk  of  the  garden 
of  the  Clermont  convent !  Was  the  burly  Jacques  Or- 
monde, the  perpetrator  of  the  abduction  ?  Was  Miette 
Ormonde,  the  old  convent  friend,  his  accomplice  ? 

'*  What  is  the  matter,  M.  Chantebel  ?  "  asked  Madame 
de  Nives,  who  was  watching  me.  I  had  instinctively 
put  my  hand  to  my  forehead  to  collect  my  ideas.  "  Are 
you  tired  of  listening  to  me  ?  " 

"  J^o,  madame  ;  I  am  trying  to  remember.  Truly,  I 
cannot  recall  that  Mademoiselle  Ormonde,  my  niece,  has 
ever  spoken  to  me  of  Mademoiselle  de  Nives." 

"  Then  I  will  continue." 

"  Do  so.     I  am  listening." 

"  When  Marie  saw  that  I  sincerely  mourned  for  her 
mother,  she  seemed  to  change  her  opinion  in  regard  to 
me,  and,  bursting  into  tears,  she  embraced  me,  thanking 
me  for  having  taken  faithful  care  of  tlie  dying.  I  be- 
lieved that  better  feelings  had  taken  possession  of  her 
heart :  she  deceived  me.  When  she  heard  her  father 
beg  me  to  remain,  she  became  disagreeable  and  outrage- 
ous. I  then  resolved  to  go  away,  and  announced  my 
determination  ;  but  her  father  having  said  she  shouki  go 
into  a  convent,  she  threw  herself  at  my  feet  and  begged 
me  to  remain.  Two  days  later  she  resisted  and  abused 
me  again.  Her  dread  of  the  convent  could  not  overcome 
her  hatred  and  wickedness." 

"  Bad  character,  aversion,  provoked  perhaps  by  yours, 
natural  impetuosity,  the  unreasonableness  of  childhood, 
inconsistency  in  passion ;  I  grant  all  this,  but  I  do  not 
yet  see  any  proof  of  mental  alienation." 

"  Wait !  When  her  father,  during  my  absence,  had 
put  her  in  the  convent,  telling  her  that  she  should  never 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT*.  35 

come  out,  there  were,  I  am  told,  outbursts  of  despair. 
The  nuns  treated  her  with  great  gentleness  and  kindness. 
She  very  quickly  made  up  her  mind,  and,  as  they  talked 
to  her  of  the  happiness  of  a  religious  life,  she  told  them 
that  she  was  inclined  to  try  it.  She  appeared  really  to 
be  very  pi(Jus,  and  the  nuns  were  fond  of  her.  "When  M. 
de  Nives,  after  our  marriage,  brought  me  home,  I  went 
to  make  inquiries  concerning  her.  She  was  entirely  en- 
grossed with  amusements,  and  very  idle  :  she  learned 
nothing,  but  they  believed  her  good  and  sincere.  I 
asked  to  see  her.  She  received  me  kindly,  for  she 
imagined  I  was  going  to  take  her  home.  I  was  obliged 
to  tell  her  that  I  would  give  a  good  account  of  her  con- 
duct to  M.  de  Nives,  and  would  plead  her  cause,  but  that 
\  Imd  not  permission  to  take  her  away  immediately. 

"  When  the  superior  called  me  madame,  as  a  mark  of 
respect,  Marie  asked  why  she  did  not  say  mademoiselle. 
They  had  foolishly  allowed  her  to  remain  ignorant  of  my 
marriage,  and  that  I  was  henceforth  Madame  de  Nives. 
It  was  necessary  to  explain  the  matter  to  her.  She  fell 
into  a  transport  of  ungovernable  rage,  and  had  to  be 
carried  away  by  force,  and  shut  up.  Her  fury  subsided 
as  quickly  as  it  had  displayed  itself.  She  was  thir- 
teen and  a  half  years  old.  She  wished  to  enter  at  once 
upon  her  novitiate,  and  could  hardly  be  made  to  compre- 
hend that  she  was  too  young,  and  that  while  waiting  she 
must  strive  to  improve. 

"  She  worked  for  a  year,  but  without  method,  and  like 
.  a  person  whose  brain  is  not  susceptible  of  the  least  ap- 
plication. The  teachers  tell  me  that  she  was  not  malicious 
but  slightly  idiotic.     They,  were  only  half  mistaken — she 
is  idiotic  and  malicious. 

"I  tried  to  believe  them,  and  was  the  dupe  of  her 
submission.     She  wrote   a  letter  to   her  father,   deficient 


36  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

in  composition  and  orthography,  such  as  a  child  six  years 
old  would  have  written,  to  tell  him  that, she  had  decided 
to  take  the  vows  next  year,  and  that  she  only  asked  to 
see  once  more  the  room  where  her  mother  died  and  to 
embrace  her  little  sister  L6onie.  I  begged  M.  de  Nives 
to  grant  her  this  favor,  and  offered  to  go  for  her.  He 
refused  emphatically.  '  Never  I '  he  said.  *  On  the  day 
after  her  mother's  death,  she  threatened  to  set  the  house 
on  fire  if  I  married  again.  She  wished  me  to  swear  not 
to  give  her  a  stepmother.  She  had  her  head  full  of  the 
servants'  gossip  in  regard  to  you.  She  declared  if  I  had 
other  children  she  would  strangle  them.  She  is  mad, 
dangerously  mad  I  She  is  well  off  at  the  convent ;  re- 
ligion 4s  the  only  restraint  that  can  calm  her.  Write 
and  inform  her  that  I  will  go  to  see  her  some  yeaij^ 
hence,  when  she  has  taken  the  veil.' 

"  In  the  meantime,  M.  de  Nives  died  without  having 
revoked  his  decision.  Marie  manfested  a  violent  sorrow, 
but  resisted  the  advice  of  the  nuns,  who  wished  her  to 
write  to  me.  They  told  her,  from  me,  that  I  was  dis- 
posed to  have  her  home  if  she  took  the  least  step  to  con- 
ciliate ijie.  She  rejected  their  advice  with  perfect  fury, 
saying  that  I  had  killed  her  father  and  mother,  and  that 
she  would  rather  die  than  put  her  foot  in  the  house.'* 

"  Does  she  really  accuse  you  of  this?  " 

"  She  accuses  me  of  almost  every  crime.  How  can 
this  furious  hatred  and  these  outrages  be  reconciled  with 
the  devotion  she  manifested  at  the  same  time  ?  However, 
I  still  believed  in  her  religious  vocation.  These  terrible 
and  insane  beings  can  only  find  alleviation  in  a  mystic 
life." 

"  I  think  otherwise.  A  mystic  life  exasperates  the 
troubled  mind.     But  no  matter;  continue." 

'*  Notwithstanding  her  apparent  devotion  to  religion, 


THE  TOWER  OF 


Marie  began,  as  she  grew  older,  to  long  for  worldly  joyg, 
and  one  day  it  was  discovered  that  she  was  carrying  on 
an  amorous  correspondence  outside  of  the  convent  with 
a  student  whose  name  was  unknown,  but  whose  ortho- 
graphy was  on  a  parallel  with  her  own.  I  therefore  re- 
moved Marie,  who  was  getting  too  old  to  incur  such  dan- 
gers (she  was  nearly  fifteen  years  of  age),  to  the  clois- 
tered convent  of  the  nuns  of  Clermont.  She  seemed  at 
first  rebellious,  afterwards  very  gentle,  and  then  very 
much  taken  up  with^  amusements.  She  changed  her 
character  and  disposition  every  fortnight.  I  have  all 
the  letters  of  the  superior,  describing  her  as  a  person 
Avhose  insanity  is  beyond  question.  Marie  is  not  even  fit 
for  a  nun.  She  will  never  be  restrained  by  any  rule  ; 
she  is  wanting  in  intelligence,  and  the  least  reasoning  ex- 
asperates her ;  she  has  also  nervous  attacks,  which  bor- 
der on  epilepsy;  she  cries,  appears  as  if  she  would  tear 
herself  in  pieces,  tries  to  kill  herself.  She  inspires  such 
fear  that  they  are  forced  to  shut  her  up.  This  convent 
will  furnish  all  the  proofs  I  need,  and  I  have  already  a 
certain  quantity  that  I  will  place  in  your  hands  if  you 
will  accept  the  defence  of  my  legitimate  interests." 

*^And  if  I  did  not  accept,  what  would  you  do,  ma- 
dame  ?  Would  you  renounce  a  pursuit  that  offers  serious 
dangers  to  the  honor  of  both  parties  ?  I  am  willing  to 
believe  that  the  proofs  held  by  you  in  reserve  are  over- 
whelming against  Mademoiselle  de  ]N"ives.  Even  if  I 
admit  that  you  could  succeed  in  finding  out  her  hiding- 
place,  and  that  you  have  the  means  of  dishonoring  her  in 
establishing  the  truth  of  a  shameful  folly,  do  you  not  fear 
that  the  barrister  who  will  defend  her  cause  will  impute 
to  you  the  misfortunes  of  this  young  girl,  sacrificed  by 
her  father,  repulsed,  persecuted  (it  will  be  said),  driven 
to  despair  by  your  hatred  ?    If  you  will  follow  my  advice. 


38  THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

you  will  proceed  no  further,  you  will  ignore  Mademoi- 
selle de  Mves's  flight,  and  await  her  approaching  ma 
jority.  If  she  does  not  appear  in  that  time,  your  cause 
will  become  better,  perhaps  good.  You  would  have '  a 
right  to  searcn  out  the  place  of  her  concealment,  and  to 
put  the  police  on  her  track ;  then  we  should  probably 
find  incontestable  proofs  of  her  incapacity.  "We  would 
make  the  most  of  them.  I  should  have  no  more  consci- 
entious scruples.  Reflect,  madame — I  beg  you  to  re- 
flect!  ■'' 

"  I  reflected  before  I  came  here,"  replied  Madame  de 
Nives,  in  an  unmoved  tone,  "  and  I  have  fully  resolved 
to  listen  to  no  counsel  that  will  result  in  both  my  own 
and  my  daughter's  ruin.  If  I  await  events,  they  may. 
indeed  be  favorable ;  but  if  they  are  not  so — if  Marie,  in 
spite  of  her  misconduct,  is  acknowledged  to  be  capable 
of  managing  her  property — I  have  no  arms  against 
her." 

"And  you  positively  wish  for  it  ?  Whether  she  is 
innocent  or  not,  you  wish  for  her  fortune  at  any  price  ?  " 

''I  do  not  wish  for  her  fortune,  which  remains  inalien- 
able. I  want  the  management  of  it,  according  to  my 
husband's  desire." 

"  Well  then !  You  are  not  taking  the  path  that  leads 
to  success,  if  you  attempt  to  bring  dishonor  upon  theheiress 
In  your  place  I  should  wait  for  her  appearance,  and  then 
endeavor  to  effect  a  compromise  with  her." 

"  What  compromise  ?  " 

"  If  her  reputation  is  really  lost,  you  can  make  her 
feel  the  price  of  the  generous  silence  you  have  kept,  and 
perhaps  induce  her  to  refrain  from  demanding  the  ac- 
counts of  your  guardiaiishij)  up  to  the  present  day." 

"  Sell  my  generosity  ?  I  would  rather  have  open  war; 
but,  if  there  is  no  other  means  of  saving  my  daughter,  I 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCE  MO  NT.  39 

must  resign  myself  to  do  it.  I  will  reflect,  sir,  and,  if  I 
follow  your  advice,  will  you  promise  to  serve  me  as  an 
intermediate  agent?  " 

'*  Yes,  if  you  can  fully  prove  that  your  stepdaughter's 
reputation  is  lost,  and  that  your  silence  is  necessary.  I 
shall  then  act  in  her  interest  as  well  as  yours,  for  you  do 
not  appear  to  be  generous  for  the  pleasure  of  being  so." 

"  N"o,  sir  ;  I  am  a  mother,  and  I  will  not  sacrifice  my 
daughter  in  order  to  be  acceptable  to  my  enemy.  But 
you  speak  of  the  account  of  my  guardianship.  Has  she, 
then,  a  right  to  demand  a  very  strict  account  ?  " 

'■'  Without  any  doubt ;  and,  as  slie  has  been  brought 
up  in  the  convent,  k  will  be  easy  to  establish  almost  ex- 
actly what  you  have  spent  for  her  education  and  main- 
tenance. It  will  not  be  a  large  sum,  and,  if  I  am  rightly 
informed,  the  income  of  the'  De  Nives  estate  exceeds 
thirty-five  or  forty  thousand  francs  a  year." 

"  That  is  exaggerated  !  " 

"  The  rents  will  give  evidence.  Suppose  it  is  only 
thirty  thousand  francs.  Have  you  calculated  the  amount 
during  the  ten  years  that  you  have  enjoyed  the  income  ?  " 
"  Yes ;  if  I  am  forced  to  restore  this  income,  I  am  ab»- 
solutely  ruined.  M.  de  Nives  did  not  leave  a  hundred 
thousand  francs  of  capital." 

"  With  that,  if  you  are  not  forced  to  make  restitution 
for  the  past,  and  if,  as  I  believe,  you  have  been  prudent 
enough  to  be  economical  in  your  expenditure,  you  will 
not  live  in  poverty,  madame.  You  are  considered  an 
economical  and  orderly  person.  You  have  education 
and  talents,  you  will  yourself  attand  to  the  education  of 
your  daughter,  and  you  will  teach  her  to  do  without 
luxury,  or  to  procure  it  by  her  own  labor.  At  all  events, 
you  can  both  enjoy  an  independent  and  worthy  exist- 
ence.    Do  not  involve  yourself  in  the  disastrous  issue  of 


40  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

a  lawsuit  whicli  will  not  bring  honor  to  yonr  character, 
and  will  cost  you  very  dear,  I  forewarn  you.  There  is 
nothing  so  tedious  and  so  difficult  as  to  exclude  from  the 
exercise  of  her  civil  rights  one  even  much  more  alienated 
in  mind  than  Mademoiselle  de  Mves  appears  to  be/' 

*'  I  will  reflect,"  replied  Madame  de  Nives,  "  as  I 
promised.  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  attention  you  have 
given  me,  and  I  ask  pardon  for  the  time  you  have  lost 
in  listening  to  me." 

I  conducted  her  to  her  carriage,  and  she  set  out  for 
the  De  Nives  estate,  situated  five  leagues  from  Riom,  on 
the  road  to  Clermont.  I  noticed — for  I  have  a  habit  of 
noticing  everything — that  the  English  horses  that  had 
dazzled  my  wife  were  thoroughly  worn  out  animals,  and 
that  the  servants  in  livery  were  very  shabby.  It  was 
evident  that  this  woman  sacrificed  nothing  to  luxury. 
-'^'  ,-    . 


CHAPTER  V. 


My  wife  and  son  were  waiting  breakfast  for  me. 

"  I  shall  not  take  any  breakfast,"  I  said  to  them.  **  I 
will  merely  swallow  a  cup  of  coffee  while  Bibi  is  being 
harnessed.  I  shall  not  return  till  three  or  four  o'clock.'* 
While  I  gave  my  orders,  I  examined  my  son  stealthily. 
His  features  seemed  distorted.  "  Did  you  sleep  well  ?  " 
I  asked. 

"  Never  better,"  he  replied.     "  I  found  my  pleasant 
chamber  and  my  comfortable  bed  delightful." 

**  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon  ?  " 


THE  TOWER  OF  FERCEMONT.  41 

«'  I  will  goVith  you,  if  I  am  not  in  your  way." 

"  You  would  be  in  my  way ;  so  I  tell  you  frankly.  I 
hope  to  tell  you  this  evening  that  you  will  never  be  in 
my  way  again.  And  even  now — I  ask  you  not  to  go 
away,  because  I  may  return  at  any  moment  to  say  this  to 
you." 

*'  You  are  going  to  see  Emilie,  father  ?  I  beg  you 
not  to  question  her,  not  to  speak  to  her  of  me.  I  should 
suffer  mortal  agony  were  she  to  come  back  to  me  after 
having  welcomed  another.  I  have  reflected  :  I  do  not 
love  her,  I  never  have  loved  her !  " 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  see  Emiline.  I  am  going  on  pro- 
fessional business.  Not  a  word  of  Emilie  before  your 
mother ! " 

.  Madame  Chantebel  returned  with  my  coffee.  While 
taking  it,  I  asked  Henri  to  examine  the. old  chateau  and 
choose  the  apartment  he  would  like  to  have  arranged  for 
our  shooting  parties.  He  promised  not  to  think  of  any- 
thing else,  and  I  took  my  seat  alone  in  my  little  cabriolet. 
I  needed  no  servant  to  drive  the  peaceable  and  vigorous 
Bibi,  and  wished  for  no  witness  of  the  step  I  was  about 
to  take. 

I  set  out  on  the  road  to  Riom,  as  if  I  were  going  to 
the  city  ;  then,  turning  to  the  left,  I  penetrated  the  sandy 
and  shady  roads  that  lead  to  Champgousse.  I  marked 
out  my  course,  but,  as  in  giving  counsel  it  is  necessary  to 
take  into  account  the  character  and  the  temperament  of 
persons  even  more  than  the  facts  and  the  situation,  I  re- 
viewed in  my  mind  the  antecedents,  qualities,  and  faults 
of  my  nephew,  Jacques  Ormonde.  The  son  of  my  sister, 
who  was  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  country,  Jacques  had 
been  a  very  beautiful  child,  and,  as  he  was  very  good- 
natured,  we  all  adored  him.  It  is  a  misfortune  for  a  man 
to  be  too  handsome,  and  to  be  constantly  told  of  it.  Th^ 


42  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

cliild  was  idle,  and  the  young  man  grew  foppish.  Wnat 
can  be  more  agreeable,  at  the  age  when  one  thinks  of 
love,  than  to  read  a  welcome,  bold  or  bashful,  earnest  in 
every,  case,  in  all  the  women's  eyes?  Jacques  had  a  pre- 
cocious success  ;  his  herculean  strength  did  not  exert  an 
unfavorable  influence  upon  his  character,  but  his  intel- 
lectual strength  succumbed  to  this  captious  reasoning : 
"  If,  without  cultivating  my  moral  being,  I  attain  with 
the  greatest  ease  the  triumph  which  is  the  feverish  aim 
of  youth,  why  need  I  spend  time  and  trouble  in  improving 
myself?" 

Tlius  he  did  not  study,  and  his  utmost- attainment  was 
some  knowledge  of  his  own  language.  He  possessed 
natural  intelligence,  and  that  kind  of  facility  which  con- 
sists in  assimilating,  the  top  of  the  basket  without  caring 
for  what  there  is  in  the  bottom.  He  could  talk  about 
everything  in  a  lively  way,  and  j^ass  for  an  eagle  in  the 
eyes  of  the  ignorant.  As  he  was  brought  up  in  the 
country,  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  produce  and 
the  culture  of  the  land.  He  knew  all  the  secrets  of  tlie 
horse-dealers,  and  made  the  most  of  his  cattle  and  com- 
modities. The  peasants  looked  upon  him  as  a  shai]) 
fellow,  and  consulted  him  with  respect.  His  proverbial 
honesty  with  honest  people,  his  familiar  and  cordial 
frankness,  and  his  unwearying  desire  to  oblige,  made  him 
a  general  favorite.  It  was  a  common  saying  among  the 
peasants  that  big  Jacques  was  the  best,  the  handsomest, 
and  the  most  intelligent  man  to  be  found  among  the 
farms  and  villao^es  in  the  neiofhborhood. 

After  finishing  his  college  course,  during  Avhich  he 
learned  nothing,  he  went  to  Paris  to  study  law,  but  gave 
himself  up  to  a  life  of  dissipation.  His  years  of  study 
were  a  perpetual  fete.  Kich,  generous,  eager  for  pleasure, 
and  always  ready  to  do  nothing,  he  had  numerous  friends, 


THE   TOWER  OF PERCEMONT.  43 

squandered  his  income  gayly,  wasted  his  youth,  health, 
brain,  and  character,  and  gave  us  great  uneasiness  while 
seeing  him  prolong  indefinitely  his  pretended  studies. 

But  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  thoughtlessness  my  beau- 
tiful nephew  inherited  with  his  blood  an  effective  means 
of  safety.  He  had  an  inborn  love  of  property,  and,  when 
it  was  plain  that  he  must  quit  this  gay  life  or  encroach 
upon  his  capital,  he  returned  to  the  country,  and  did  not 
again  leave  it. 

His  estate  of  Champgousse  was  well  leased,^  but  the 
term  had  expired,  and  he  managed  to  renew  it,  at  a  con- 
siderably increased  rental,  without  driving  away  his  ten- 
ants ;  and  even  discovered  the  secret  of  making  himself 
much  liked.  He  formed  a  plan  for  building  a  fine  house, 
but  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  carry  it  out.  Vignolette,  the 
})aternal  mansion,  fell  to  his  sister  Emilie's-ehare.  It  was 
a  habitation  charming  for  its  simplicity — a  luxuriant  en- 
closure of  fiowers  and  fruits,  in  a  country  adorable  for 
freshness  and  beauty  in  that  fertile  region  which  extends 
between  the  river  Morge  and  the  latest  eruptions  of  lava 
from  the  Dome  mountains  towards  the  north.  Miette 
was  so  tenderly  attached  to  this  dwelling,  where  she  had 
closed  the  eyes  of  her  parents,  that  she  preferred  to  give 
up  the  larger  jDortion  of  the  landed  inheritance  to  her 
brother,  and  keep  the  vineyard  and  house  of  Vignolette. 
She  lived  there  alone  with  my  aged  sister  Anastasie 
during  Jacques's  absence,  and  cared  tenderly  for  this 
good  aunt,  who  died  in  her  arms,  leaving  to  her  all  her 
property,  consisting  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in- 
vested in  government  funds. 

As  soon  as  Miette  came  into  possession  of  this  legacy 
she  wrote  to  her  brother,  then  in  Paris  :  "  I  know  that 
you  are  in  debt,  as  you  have  directed  our  notary  to  sell 
your  meadow  and  woodland  of  chestnut-trees.     I  do  not 


44  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

want  you  to  encroach  upon  your  property.  I  have 
money ;  if  you  wish  for  a  hundred  thousand  franos, 
they  are  at  your  service." 

Jacques's  debts  did  not  amount  to  half  that  sum. 
They  were  paid,  and  he  returned,  resolved  never  to  run 
into  debt  again.  He  decided  to  live  at  Vignolette  with 
Emilie,  who  was  left  entirely  alone  by  the  death  of  her 
aunt,  and  he  put  off  his  plan  of  building  at  Champgousse 
until  Emilie's  marriage  took  place.  During  the  two  years 
that  he  had  lived  with  her,  his  gay  life  had  taken  a  strange 
practical  character.  He  carefully  concealed  his  wild  ad- 
ventures from  the  good  Emilie  ;  this  |vas  easily  accom- 
plished, as  she  lived  in  absolute  retirement,  and  hardly 
ever  left  her  home.  He  attended  shooting  expeditions 
in  all  directions,  and  joined  his  friends  in  pleasure-parties 
in  every  season  of  the  year. 

Jacques  had  nearly  reached  his. thirtieth  year  and  had 
never  spoken  of  marriage.  He  was  so  happy  in  his 
liberty,  and  used  it  so  well !  He  was  growing  very  stout ; 
his  complexion,  once  fair  as  a  girl's,  had  taken  a  purplish 
lustre  in  striking  contrast  with  his  silver-blonde  hair.  He 
had  one  of  those  faces  that  one  can  see  afar  off,  with  high 
color,  large  features,  a  fine  aquiline  nose,  and  a  quivering 
movement  which  brought  out  two  natural  marks  on  the 
skin,  once  charming,  but  now  a  little  like  warts.  The 
chin  was  distinguishable  beneath  the  fine  light  silky 
beard,  which  resembled  a  tuft  of  ripe  corn  in  the  midst 
of  a  field  of  poppies.  The  expression  of  the  eyes  was 
always  lively  and  amiable,  but  too  bright  to  be  tender. 
The  mouth  remained  handsome  and  healthy,  but  the 
charm  of  the  smile  was  effaced.  It  was  easy  to  see  that 
wine  and  other  excesses  had  cut  down  the  flower  of  a 
youth  still  susceptible  of  abundant  growth,  and  Henri 
defined    very    justly    the    impressive,    agreeable,    and 


THE    TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  45 

slightly  grotesque  appearance  of  his  cousin  when  he  said, 
*'  He  is  a  buffoon,  still  young  and  good." 

Having  recalled  all  this  to  mind,  to  decide  how  to 
open  fire  with  him,  I  arrived  at  the  entrance  of  the  farm. 
The  workmen  told  me  that  M.  Jacques  was  in  a  wood 
near  by,  and  offered  to  call  him.  I  intrusted  Bibi  to 
their  care,  and  hastened  in  search  of  my  nenhew. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  EXPECTED  to  encounter  him  engaged  in  shooting,  in- 
stead of  which  I  found  him  extended  on  the  turf,  sleeping 
under  a  tree.  He  slept  so  soundly  that  I  was  obliged  to 
touch  him  lightly  with  the  end  of  my  cane  to  waken 
him. 

"  Ah,  uncle !  "  he  cried,  starting  with  a  bound  upon 
his  great  feet,  what  a  pleasant  surprise,  and  I  am  so  glad 
to  see  you  !    I  was  just  thinking  about  you  !  " 

"That  is  to  say,  you  were  dreaming  about  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  perhaps ;  I  was  asleep  ?  It  is  no  matter  ;  you 
were  in  my  thoughts.  You  seemed  to  be  angry  with 
me  ;  that  is  not  true,  is  it?  " 

«  Why  should  I  be  angry  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  a  very  long  time  since  I  have  been  to 
see  you ;  I  am  so  busy  here." 

"  I  see  that  plainly.  Fatigue  has  overpowered  you, 
and  you  are  therefore  forced  to  take  a  siesta^  no  matter 
where." 

"  Come  here  and  see  my  plans,  uncle ;  you  must  give 
me  advice. 


46  THE  TOIVER  OF  PEKCEMONT. 

"  Anotlier  time.  I  come  now  to  ask  you  for  informa- 
tion. You  know,  I  am  told,  a  young  person  who  is  called 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives  ?  " 

Jacques  started  at  this  abrupt  attack.  "  Who  told 
you  so,  uncle?     I  am  not  acquainted  with  her." 

''  But  you  know  persons  w^ho  are  acquainted  with  her, 
since  Miette  is  one  of  them.  She  must  talk  to  you  some- 
times of  her  old  friend  at  the  convent  ?  " 

"  Yes,  no — stay  !  I  cannot  remember.  You  would 
like — what  would  you  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  if  she  is  an  idiot." 

This  brutal  word  fell  like  a  second  stone  on  Jacques's 
head,  and  his  ruddy  complexion  grew  slightly  pale. 

"  Idiot !  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  an  idiot !  Who 
pretends  to  think  so  ?  " 

"  The  head  of  a  family  who  came  to  consult  me  this 
morning,  as  one  of  his  sons  wishes  to  ask  this  young  per- 
son in  marriage  as  soon  as  she  leaves  the  convent.  Well, 
this  father  had  heard  that  the  young  lady  was  not  in  pos- 
session of  her  reason,  that  she  was  epileptic,  insane,  or 
imbecile." 

"  Indeed  !  1  do  not  know.  How  should  I  know  ?  " 
replied  Jacques,  who,  scarcely  recovered  from  his  siil-prise, 
began  to  put  himself  on  guard. 

"  Then,  if  you  do  not  know  anything,  I  must  find 
Miette,  who  will  be  better  informed,  and  will  be  willing 
to  give  me  the  information  I  desire." 

Here  was  a  new  trouble  for  Jacques.  "  Miette  will 
cair'  upon  you,  uncle,"  said  he.  "  There  is  no  need  of 
your  going  to  see  her." 

"  Why  should  I  not  ?     It  is  not  very  far." 

"  She  is  probably  not  at  home  to-day.  She  had  some 
purchases  to  make  at  Riom." 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  47 

"  It  is  no  matter ;  if  I  do  not  find  her,  I  will  leave 
word  that  she  may  expect  me  to-morrow." 

"  She  will  call  on  you,  uncle,  I  will  let  her  know  that 
you  want  to  see  her." 

"  Are  you  so  very  much  afraid  of  my  going  to  Yig- 
nolette?" 

"  It  is  for  the  sake  of  sparing  you  useless  trouble 
uncle." 

"  You  are  very  good.  I  rather  think  that  you  are  afraid 
I  shall  find  out  a  secret." 

^a  ?     How  ?     Why  do  you  say  that !  " 

"You  know  very  well  that  no  longer  ago  than  last 
evening,  Henri  discovered  that  Miette  was  concealing  a 
secret  very  painful  to  him,  and  consequently  to  me." 

"  Painful  to  you — to  him?     I  cannot  comprehend  it." 

"  What  comedy  are  you  playing  ?  Did  you  not  con- 
fess everything  to  Henri  ?  " 

"  He  told  you  thisi^  Why,  I  confessed  nothing  at 
all." 

"  You  confessed  to  him  that  Miette  had  a  lover  wliom 
slie  preferred,  and  that  my  son  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
retire  from  the  field." 

"  I  confessed  that  ?  Never  !  never  !  My  sister  has 
no  other  lu\  or.  Is  it  possible  that"  you  doubt  Miette's 
uprigiitiies.s  and  modesty  ?  A  lov^r  at  her  liouse  Avlien  I 
*was  not  there !     If  any  one  but  you  had  said  that — " 

"  Then  the  person  concealed  at  Vignolette  is  a  woman." 

"  It  cannot  be  a  man  ;  I  swear  that  the  thing  is  im- 
possible, and  that  it  is  not  true." 

"  You  must,  then,  be  sure  of  it.  You  often  go  to 
Miette's—-" 

"  I  have  not  put  my  foot  in  the  house  for  a  month. 

''  That ,  is  strange !  Has  she  forbidden  you  to  go 
there  ? " 


48  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

"  I  have  had  no  time." 

*^How  is  that?  You  find  time  to  attend  all  the  fairs 
in  the  vicinity." 

"  For  my  business,  not  for  my  pleasure.  I  am  not 
going  to  waste  my  time  aay  longer;  it  is  the  solemn 
truth." 

"  Fou  are  thinking  of  getting  married  ?  " 

"Perhaps  so." 

"With  an  heiress?"  ^ 

"  With  a  person  whom  I  have  loved  for  a  long  time." 

"  And  who  is  not  an  idiot  ?  " 

"  Love  an  idiot !     It's  perfectly  horrible  !  " 

"  You  are  not  like  the  young  man  who  seeks  Made- 
moiselle de  Nives  for  her  fortune,  and  who  does  not  care 
whether  she  knows  her  right  hand  from  her  left.  You 
can  conceive  the  uneasiness  of  the  father  who  has  con- 
sulted me  on  this  point.  He  would  think  his  son  dishon- 
ored if  this  were  certain." 

"  It  would  be  a  mean,  base  deed,  certainly.  But  who 
has  circulated  this  report  about  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  ? 
It  must  be  her  stepmother." 

"You  are  acquainted,  then,  with  her  stepmother? 
Come,  tell  me  what  you  know." 

"  But  I  know  nothing  at  all.  I  only  know  what  every 
one  says,  what  you  have  heard  a  thousand  times.  The 
Count  de  Nives  married  an  adventuress,  who  drove  away 
and  persecuted  the  child  of  his  first  wife.  It  is  even  said 
that  this  young  girl  died  in  a  convent." 

"  Ah  !  you  thought  she  was  dead  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  such  a  report." 

"  Very  well.  I  can  tell  you  that  she  is  living,  and,  if 
my  inferences  do  not  mislead  me,  for  she  has  escaped 
from  the  convent,  she  is  now  concealed  at  Yignolette." 

"Ah!  she  escaped?" 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  49 

**  Yes,  young  man,  with  a  loyer  who  has  very  large 
feet." 

Jacques  Ormonde  looked  involuntarily  at  his  feet  and 
then  at  mine,  as  if  to  make  a  comparison  that  had  never 
entered  his  mind  before.  Perhaps  until  this  moment  he 
had  never  suspected  that  there  could  be  the  slightest  im- 
perfection in  any  part  of  his  person. 

I  saw  plainly  that  he  was  foiled,  and  that  if  I  pressed 
him  a  little  further  he  would  tell  me  everything ;  but  my 
object  was  to  discover  his  exact  position  in  regard  to  the 
cas^  and  not  to  gain  his  confidence.  I  changed  the  con- 
versation abruptly.  "  Tell  me  about  your  sister,"  I  said. 
"-  Is  it  true  that  she  is  angry  with  Madame  Chantebel  ? '' 

"  My  aunt  has  hurt  her  feelings  very  much  by  giving 
her  to  understand  that  she  did  not  look  favorably  upon 
her  marriage  with  Henri." 

"  I  know  there  is  a  misunderstanding  between  them, 
as  there  is  between  Henri  and  you.  I  hope  everything 
will  be  made  up,  and  as  you  are  sure  that  Miette  has 
formed  no  other  plans — " 

"  I  will  take  my  oath  of  it." 
^"  Well,  I  am  going  to    talk  with  her.     Come  with  me 
as  far  as  Yignolette." 

"  I  will  go  half-way,  for  I  have  masons  here  who  dis- 
arrange all  my  plans  the  moment  my  back  is  turned." 

When  we  were  at  a  little  distance  from  Yignolette, 
Jacques  begged  me  to  let  him  return  to  his  work.  He 
seemed  afraid  to  go  any  farther.  I  gave  him  his  liberty 
but,  after  watching  his  progress  for  a  little  while,  I  dis- 
covered that  he  was  not  returning  to  Champgousse.  He 
made  his  way  stealthily  among  the  vines,  as  if  to  watch 
the  result  of  my  visit  to  his  sister. 

I  whipped  up  my  horse,  and  made  him  redouble  his 
pace.     I  did  not  wish  Jacques  to  arrive  before  me  by  the 


50  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

narrow  footpaths,  and  to  forewarn  his  sister  of  my  arrival. 
However,  as  I  must  drive  around  the  farm  in  order  to 
enter  it  by  the  carriage-road,  I  was  not  certain  that  with 
his  great  limbs  and  the  habits  of  a  sportsman  who  over- 
comes all  obstacles,  he  had  not  been  beforehand  with  me, 
when,  without  announcing  myself,  I  entered  my  niece's 
garden.    ^ 

She  came  to  me,  with  a  basket  of  peaches,  freshly 
gathered,  in  her  hands,  and  putting  them  upon  a  bench, 
cordially^ embraced  me.  "Let  us  sit  down  here,"  I  said  ; 
"  I  want  to  talk  to  you;  "  and  in  order  to  seat  myself  I 
took  up  a  white  silk  umbrella  lined  with  rose-color,  that 
was  lying  on  the  bench.  "  Is  this  pretty  plaything 
yours  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  did  not  know  you  cared  for  fine 
things  like  this." 

"  No,  uncle,"  she  replied,  with  the  frank  decision 
which  was  at  the  base  of  her  mind  and  character.  "  This 
plaything  is  not  mine ;  it  belongs  to  some  one  who  is 
staying  with  me." 

"And  who  has  run  into  the  house  ?  " 

"  She  will  return  if  you  will  consent  to  see  her,  and 
hear  what  she  has  to  say ;  she  wants  to  talk  to  you,  for 
last  evening  I  convinced  her  that  this  was  her  wisest 
course." 

"  Have  you  seen  your  brother  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle.  I  know  Henri  found  out  the  existence 
of  some  secret  here.  I  do  not  know  what  he  told  you, 
nor  what  he  thinks  of  it ;  but  I  am  unwilling  to  have  any 
secrets  with  you,  and  was  obliged  to  tell  the  person  who 
has  trusted  hers  to  me  that  I  would  not  tell  you  any 
falsehoods.  You  have  come  to  question  me,  dear  uncle ; 
I  am  ready  to  answer  all  your  inquiries. 

*'*Indeed,  my  child,*'  I  resumed,  "  I  will  only  ask  you 
those  to  which  you  can  reply   without  betraying  any- 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  51 

thing.  I  will  not  demand  the  name  of  the  person — I  be- 
lieve I  know  it — neither  will  I  ask  to  see  her.  I  am  in- 
terested solely  in  what  concerns  your  brother  and  you 
personally,  for  it  is  of  great  importance  that  Jacques 
should  not  make  you  an  accomplice  in  a  j^iece  of  folly 
the  consequences  of  which  will  be  disagreeable  if  not 
serious." 

"  I  assure  you,  uncle,  that  I  do  not  understand  what 
you  are  talking  about.  Jacques  has  nothing  to  do  with 
my  decision  to  receive  this  person,  and  protect  her  as 
long  as  it  is  in  my  power." 

"  You  say  Jacques  has  nothing  to  do  with  it — and  you 
assure  me.  Emilie,  you  have  never  told  me  an  un- 
truth ?  " 

"  N'ever  !  "  replied  Miette,  with  that  all  powerful  ex- 
pression of  truth  that  needs  no  proof  to  impress  its 
claims. 

"  I  believe  you,  dear  girl — I  believe  you  !  ''  I  cried. 
"  Thus  Mademoiselle  de — we  Avill  not  call  her  by  name — 
came  to  you  a  month  since,  alone  and  of  her  own  free 
will,  that  is  to  say,  no  one  brought  her  to  you,  persua- 
ding her  to  come  here,  and  no  one  helped  her  to  escape 
from  the  walls  of  her  prison  ?  " 

Before  replying,  Miette  hesitated  a  moment,  as  if 
what  I  said  gave  birth  to  a  suspicion  that  had  not  before 
occurred  to  her.  "  The  truth  that  I  can  swear  to,"  she 
rej)lied,  "  is  this :  one  evening  last  month  I  was  here 
alone.  Jacques  had  gone  to  the  fair  of  Artonne.  He 
had  been  away  more  than  a  week,  when  I  heard  some 
one  ringing  at  the  gate.  I  thought  at  first  it  was  he, 
but,  while  getting  up  to  go  to  the  door,  I  guessed  who  it 
must  be ;  for  I  had  received  a  letter  announcing  a  ^lan, 
a  hope  of  escape,  and  asking  for  an  asylum  and  secrecy.- 
I  did  not  arouse  my  domestics,  who  were  asleep,  but  I 


52  THE  TOWER  OF  FERCEMONT. 

ran  to  the  door,  and  found  the  person  I  expected.  I 
welcomed  her  cordially,  and  led  her  to  the  room  already- 
prepared  for  her.  Old  Nicole  was  my  only  confidant, 
and  I  am  as  sure  of  her  fidelity  as  of  my  own. 

"  And  this  person  was  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  she  was  accompanied  by  Charliette,  her  nurse, 
who  had  planned  her  escape  for  a  long  time  and  at  last 
succeeded  in  effecting  it." 

"  What  has  become  of  this  woman  ?  " 

"  She  did  not  remain  here.  She  is  in  Riom,  where 
she  is  living  with  her  husband.  I  am  not  much  pleased 
with  her  appearance,  but  she  comes  to  see  Marie  occa- 
sionally, to  tell  her  what  her  stepmother  is  doing,  for  she 
has  taken  upon  herself  to  watch  her  movements." 

"  Tell  me  what  Jacques  did  after  you  had  received 
your  friend." 

"  Jacques  returned  in  two  days,  but  did  not  see  my 
recluse.  I  met  him  on  the  road,  and  said  to  him  :  '  You 
must  not  put  your  foot  in  our  house,  for  it  would  cause 
a  scandal.  I  have  ihere  a  friend  who  cannot  see  any 
one.  You  must  sleep  at  Champgousse.  To-morrow  I 
will  bring  you  everything  you  need,  and  help  you  to  get 
settled  there.  You  are  anxious  to  commence  building ; 
begin  now  ;  do  not  come  home  for  a  month,  and  preserve 
the  most  absolute  secrecy.'  Jacques  promised  not  to  try 
to  see  my  friend,  and  not  to  speak  of  her  to  any  one. 
He  has  kept  his  word." 

"  You  are  sure  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  uncle,  even  though  you  should  think  I  am  mis- 
taken," replied  Miette,  firmly  ;  "  I  know  all  the  levity  for 
which  my  brother  is  reproached,  but  he  is  blameless 
where  I  am  concerned.  He  feels,  indeed,  that  if  he  came 
here  he  would  quickly  be  accused  of  paying  court  to  my 
friend,  and  that  I  should  play  a  villanous  part," 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  63 

**  What  villanous  part,  my  dear  ?  This  is  the  sole 
point  that  interests  me.  What  should  you  think  of  your 
situation  if  Jacques  was  in  love  with  this  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Jacques  cannot  be ;  he  is  not  acquainted  with  her." 

"  But  suppose — " 

"  That  he  has  deceived  me  ?  It  is  impossible !  it 
would  be  unpardonable !  This  young  lady  is  rich,  noble, 
and  has  a  social  position  above  Jacques.  If,  to  make 
such  an  alliance  possible,  he  had  tried  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  her,  to  win  her  affection,  to  profit  by  her 
abode  with  me  to  compromise  her  character,  I  should 
pass  for  the  accomplice  of  a  base  intriguer,  or  for  a  ridi- 
culous dupe.     Is  not  this  your  opinion,  uncle  ?  " 

In  my  turn  I  hesitated  to  reply.  The  burly  Jacques 
seemed  to  me  both  thoughtless  and  practical  enough  to 
deceive  his  sister.  "  My  darling,"  I  at  last  said,  embra- 
cing her, "  no  one  will  ever  accuse  you  of  being  concerned 
in  any  intrigue  whatever,  and,  if  there  were  persons  ill- 
advised  enough  to  do  so,  your  uncle  and  cousin  would  box 
their  ears." 

"  But  my  aunt  Chantebel !  "  replied  Miette,  with  an 
expression  of  sorrowful  pride.  "  My  aunt  is  prejudiced 
against  me,  and  perhaps  she  has  already  spread  unfavor- 
able reports  in  regard  to  me  ?  '* 

"  Your  aunt  has  not  heard  ^anything.  Forget  what 
she  said  to  you,  for  she  will  make  amends  for  her  thought- 
lessness. I  cannot  deny  that  my  dear  wife  is  thoughtless ; 
but  she  is  good,  and  has  a  high  esteem  for  you." 

"  She  does  not  love  me,  uncle ;  that  was  plain  the 
last  time  I  saw  her,  and  she  has  prejudiced  Henri's  mind 
against  me." 

"  But  am  I  of  no  account  ?  I  am  here,  and  I  love 
you  enough  for  four.  Tell  me  one  thing :  do  you  still 
love  Henri  ? ' 


54  THE  TOWER  OF  FERCEMONT. 

"  The  Henri  as  he  used  to  be,  yes  ;  but  as  he  is  now, 
I  cannot  say — I  must  make  his  acquaintance  over  again. 
He  has  changed  in  appearance,  language,  and  manners. 
It  will  take  time  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  his  character, 
but  he  cannot  come  to  my  house  for  some  weeks,  neither 
can  I  go  to  yours;  you  now  understand  the  reason  why." 

"  Well !  pat  off  the  examination  you  wish  to  make  for 
a  few  weeks,  and  answer  a  final  question.  Do  you  know 
the  person  to  whom  you  are  giving  an  asylum  well  ?  " 

"Yes,  uncle."  '    . 

"You  love  her?" 

"  Very  much." 

"  And  you  esteem  her?" 

"  I  firmly  believe  that  she  has  never  done  anything 
that  merits  serious  disapprobation." 

"  Is  she  intelligent?  " 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Weli  educated?" 

"  As  well  educated  as  one  can  be  in  a  convent;  she 
reads  a  great  deal  now." 

"  Does  she  reason  soundly  ?  " 

"  Much  more  so  than  the  person  who  has  brought  her 
misfortunes  upon  her,  and  who  still  persecutes  her." 

"  Enough !  I  do  not  want  to  know  any  more  at  pres- 
ent, neither  do  I  desim  to  see  your  friend  until  I  have 
something  important  to  tell  her." 

"  Ah,  uncle  !  "  cried  Miette,  who  was  not  deficient  in 
penetration — "  I  guess  !  You  have  been  consulted  ;  you 
are  commissioned  to — " 

"  I  have  been  consulted,  but  I  am  entirely  free  to  act 
as  I  decide.  I  would  not  enter  upon* a  case  where  your 
name  would  be  used  in  the  pleadings  for  anything  in  the 
world  :  but  you  maybe  certain  there  will  be  no  case,  and, 
if  there  were,  I  would  refuse  to  plead  against  one  who  is 


THE  TO  WER  OF  PERCEMONT.  55 

dependent  on,  and  protected  by  you.  As  it  is  now  a 
question  of  compromise,  I  have  the  right  to  give  good 
advice  to  both  parties.  Tell  your  friend  that  she  has 
done  a  very  imprudent  thing  in  quitting  her  convent  when 
she  would  so  soon  have  the  full  ris^ht  to  leave  it  of  her 
own  free  will ;  and  let  me  tell  you  that,  iVi  encouraging 
her,  you  have  been  guilty  of  a  foolish  act  of  which  I  did 
not  believe  you  capable." 

*' No,  uncle,  I  have  been  deceived  by  appearances. 
Marie  wrote  :  '  I  am  of  age,  but  see  no  prospect  of  regain- 
ing my  liberty.  My  only  resource  is  in  flight,  and  yoi 
are  the  only  person  in  the  world  who  can  give  me  ac 
asylum.  Are  you  willing  to  receive  me  ? '  I  could  not 
refuse.  When  she  arrived,  she  told  me  she  would  not 
be  of  age  for  several  weeks.  I  was  well  acquainted  with 
Marie,  and  knew  she  was  a  year  younger  than  I,  but  did 
not  know  her  birthday.  After  I  found  this  out,  I  fullj 
understood  that  she  must  be  closely  concealed,  and  tool; 
all  possible  precautions.  I  have  succeeded  until  now 
Marie  does  not  go  out  of  the  enclosure,  and  my  tenants 
are  refiable  and  devoted.  They  do  not  know  her  name^ 
have  not  seen  her,  and,  without  being  in  my  confidence», 
are  sufficiently  distrustful  not  to  reply  to  any  questions, 
that  might  be  asked  them." 

"  Ah,  well !  my  dear  girl,  redouble  your  precautions, 
for  at  the  present  time  Mademoiselle  Marie  is  still  undei 
her  guardian's  control.  She  has  power  to  take  her  home, 
or  force  her  to  return  to  the  convent — between  two  gen- 
darmes, as  they  say  !  " 

"  1  know  it,  uncle,  I  know  it !  therefore  I  sleep  with 
one  eye  open.  If  such  a  thing  should  happen — poor 
Marie  !  I  would  follow  her ;.  I  should  be  seen  conducted 
through  the  country  by  the  gendarmes." 

"  As  Jacques  would  not  endure  this — nor  I,  any  more 


56  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

than  he,  if  I  were  there — we  should  be  in  a  fine  piece  of 
business.  Friendship  is  a  good  thing,  but  I  find  that 
your  friend  has  well  used,  not  to  say  abused,  yours." 

"  She  is  so  unhappy,  uncle  !  If  you  knew — ah  !  how  I 
wish  she  could  talk  to  you,  and  tell  you  the  story  of  her 
life ! " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  see  her,  and  I  must  not.  It  is  im- 
possible for  me  to  be  the  confidant  of  her  presence  here. 
Remember  this  would  spoil  everything,  and  destroy  my 
power  of  being  useful  to  you.  Now  I  am  going  away. 
I  have  not  seen  her,  you  have  not  told  me  her  name,  I 
know  absolutely  nothing.  Embrace  me,  and  say  to  your 
recluse  that  she  must  not  even  leave  her  umbrellas  in 
your  garden." 

''  Take  this  basket  of  peaches,  uncle ;  my  aunt  likes 
them." 

'•  No  !  Your  peaches,  though  superb,  are  less  velvety 
and  fresh  than  you  are  ;  and,  as  1  shall  not  speak  at  home 
of  having  seen  you,  I  do  not  wish  to  carry  anything 
away.  Allow  me  only  to  say  to  Henri  that  you  will  con- 
sent to  renew  your  acquaintance  with  him  next  month.?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  tell  him,  then,  that  you  have  seen 
me?" 

"  Yes,  him  alone,  but  he  will  not  know  anything  of 
your  secret." 

"  Then,  dear  uncle,  tell  him — ^tell  him — ^tell  him  no- 
thing ;  learn,  before  all  else,  what  my  aunt  has  against 
me.  As  long  as  she  feels  unkindly  towards  me,  I  can- 
not think  of  anything." 


THE  TOWER  OF 


CHAPTER  VII. 

i 

I  RESOLVED  to  confide  nothing  of  what  I  had  learned 
to  Henri.  I  felt,  however,  that  I  must  remove  his  sus- 
picions of  Miette,  and  console  him,  for  despite  his  ap- 
parent calmness,  I  knew  he  was  wounded  to  the  deptlis 
of  his  heart,  and  I  feared  to  see  him,  both  by  his  conduct 
and  his  attitude,  render  a  marriage,  in  which,  I  felt,  the 
happiness  of  his  life  was  bound  up,  impossible.  I  returned 
about  three  o'clock,  ajid  found  no  one  at  home.  My  wife 
and  son  had  gone  to  the  Tower  of  Percemont,  and  I 
went  there  to  join  them. 

The  plaything  decidedly  pleased  Henri,  and  his 
mother  was  trying  to  persuade  him,  under  the  pretciico 
of  his  requiring  a  study,  to  fit  up  a  comfortable  suite  of 
apartments  suitable  for  a  bachelor.  I  did  not  agree  with 
them.  In  my  opinion,  the  manor-house  ought  to  be  left 
exactly  as  it  was,  the  only  change  advisable  being  to 
clean  and  repair  the  room  which  old  Coras  de  Percemont 
had  occupied.  "  Henri,"  said  I,  "  whether  he  marries  his 
cousin  Emilie  or  not,  will  marry  someone  in  two  or  three 
years.  Who  knows  if  he  will  go  to  live  with  his  wife  or 
remain  with  us  ?  In  the  latter  case,  I  suppose  his  wife 
will  wish  to  live  in  the  tower ;  great  expense  must  then 
be  incurred  to  prepare  it  for  housekeeping  and  for  a  family. 
All  that  you  would  do  at  present  would  be  of  no  use, 
and  would  perhaps  have  to  be  undone  ;  do  not  be  in  a 
hurry  to  throw  money  away  to  no  purpose." 

Henri  yielded  to  my  judgment.     His  mother  blamed 
him  for  always  giving  in  to  me,  and  never  carrying  out 


58  THE   TOWER  OF  FERCEMONT. 

any  idea  that  slie  suggested.  "  You  just  promised 
me,"  she  said,  "  that  you  would  not  think  of  marrying  be- 
fore you  were  thirty  years  old.'' 

After  scolding  liim  until  she  was  tired,  she  left  us 
alone,  and  I  hastened  to  say  to  Henri :  "  I  have  just  been 
to  see  Miette.  I  was  sure  of  it !  The  person  whose 
presence  perplexed  you  so  much  at  her  house  last  even- 
ing was  a  woman." 

"  You  are  sure,  father  ?  Why,  then  did  she  conceal 
her?" 

"  It  is  a  Hun  from  the  convent  of  Riom,  whom  the 
physician  has  ordered  to  be  sent  into  the  country  for  a 
while.  You  know  these  nuns  are  cloistered,  and  must 
not  see  any  one  belonging  to  the  outside  world.  When- 
ever a  visitor  arrives,  Miette  has  promised  to  give  her 
warning,  so  that  she  may  take  herself  out  of  the  way. 
Miette  has  also  received  instructions  not  to  reveal  to  any 
one  the  presence  of  this  nun  uofler  her  I'oof,  for  tharule 
of  the  order  requires  slie  should  live  and  die  in  a  con- 
vent. The  bishop,  seeing  the  urgency  of  the  case,  granted 
a  dispensation  of  two  months,  upon  condition  that  the 
matter  should  be  kept  quiet.  I  intrust  the  secret  to  you, 
and  beg  you  to  say  nothing  to  your  mother  in  regard  to 
it.  Miette,  very  much  attached  to  this  nun,  who  was 
like  a  mother  to  her  at  the  convent,  spends  her  whole 
time  in  taking  care  of  her,  waiting  upon  her,  and  keep- 
ing her  concealed.  As  usual,  Miette,  with  the  heart  of 
an  angel,  acts  the  part  of  a  Sister  of  Charity." 

"  What  must  she  think  of  me  for  bringing  such  an  ac- 
cusation against  her  ?    Did  you  tell  her  what  I  said  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  so  foolish.  She  w6uld  not  readily  pardon 
you  ;  but  tears  are  in  your  eyes  !  Tell  me  frankly  if 
Emilie  is  not  dearer  to  you  than  you  are  willing  to 
own?" 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  59 

"  Father,"  said  Henri,  "  I  feel  inclined  to  weep  and 
to  laugh  also.'' 

"  Laugh  and  weep  as  much  as  you  like,  but  speak  !  " 

"That  is  difficult.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  feel  when 
my  own  mind  is  not  clear  to  myself.  I  know  that  Emilie 
is  an  angel — better  still ;  she  is  a  saint ;  for,  if  she  has 
the  innocence  and  candor  attributed  to  celestial  beings, 
she  has  also  the  merit  of  a  generous  and  courageous  soul 
that  surmounts  all  trials.  It  is  a  glory  to  be  loved  by 
lier,  a  supreme  felicity  to  have  her  for  a  wife.  You  see, 
I  know  what  slie  is  worth  ;  but  am  I  good  for  anything? 
Am  I  worthy  of  such  a  wife  ?  What  have  I  done  to 
deserve  her  ?  On  the  contrary,  I  have  passed,  not  with- 
out stain,  through  an  experience  of  life  of  which  she  has 
not  the  least  idea,  and  from  which  I  was  compelled  to 
drive  away  her  image  to  prevent  it  from  making  me 
ashamed  of  my  pleasures.  And  now  I  return  to  her  de- 
teriorated and  sorrowful.  A  man  should  marry  at  eigh-l\ 
teen,  father,  in  the  fervor  of  faith  in  himself  and  in  the  ] . 
pride  of  holy  innocence.  He  would  then  feel  himself  the  ' 
equal  of  his  companion,  and  be  sure  of  meriting  her  re- 
spect. Yes,  conjugal  love  is  that  austere  and  sacred 
thing  concerning  which  it  may  be  said,  if  it  is  not  all  in 
all,  it  is  nothing. 

"  Well !  I  did  not  understand  this  until  lately,  and, 
when  my  senses  drew  me  elsewhere,  I  did  not  dream 
that  my  esteem  and  respect  for  Emilie  would  be  lessened. 
I  have  since  seen  my  mistake.  My  worship  has  grown 
cold  ;  I  am  convinced  that  I  never  loved  her  as  I  ought, 
since  I  could  forget  her.  I  was  fearful  of  her  and  of  my- 
self :  1  thought  her  too  much  my  superior,  morally 
speaking,  to  receive  me  with  pleasure,  and  to  give  herself 
to  me  with  enthusiasm  ;  I  saw  in  marriage  a  chain  of  a 
frightful  seriousness.     My  imagination  reverted  to  other 


(30  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

types  ^han  that  of  this  young  girl,  who  is  too  perfect  for  me. 
I  had  been  corrupted.  If  I  did  not  drown  myself  like 
my  cousin  Jacques  in  the  dissipation  of  Paris,  I  neverthe- 
less lost  the  taste  for  simplicity  and  love  for  the  right 
])ath  ;  I  put,  in  fact,  too  many  artificial  flowers  in  my 
garden  of  love.  I  cannot  speak  to  Emilie,  I  dare  not 
look  at  her.     I  shall  never  know  how  to  gain  her  love. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  everything — to  confess 
something  absolutely  shameful  ?  Yesterday,  when  I  be- 
lieved her  unfaithful,  at  first  my  blood  ran  cold,  and 
then  suddenly  I  became  furious.  Jealousy  tormented 
me,  and  I  did  not  close  my  eyes  the  whole  night.  If  she 
had  been  near  me,  I  should  have  insulted,  perhaps  struck 
her !  So  that  I  was  madly  in  love  with  her  when  be- 
lieving her  unfaithful.  I  had  the  greatest  possible  trouble 
to  prevent  myself  from  going  to  see  her  notwithstanding 
her  prohibition  and  yours.  Now  you  make  plain  to  me 
that  I  have  been  a  madman  and  a  fool,  you  show  me 
Emilie's  image,  with  its  immaculate  aureole,  and  behold 
me  cast  down  and  repentant,  but  uncertain  and  fearful.  I 
cannot  tell  whether  I  love  her  or  not !  " 

"  That  will  do,  that  Avill  do,"  I  replied  ;  "  now  I  un- 
derstand everything !  These  things  must  happen. 
There  is  a  period  of  life  when  fathers  with  the  best  in- 
tentions are  forced  to  abandon  their  sons  to  fate,  very 
happy  if  they  are  restored  in  no  worse  condition  than 
you  are.  Accept  the  past  which  you  cannot  change,  and 
do  not  aggravate  its  influence  by  too  serious  reflections. 
You  have  made  a  voyage  where  you  have  been  forced  to 
feed  on  condiments,  and  irow  our  fruits  and  milk-diet 
seem  insipid  to  your  taste.  You  are  no  longer  a  Yir- 
gilian"  shepherd.  Hav^  patience — these  simple  pleasures 
will  return.  Man  is  modified  according  to  his  sphere ; 
you  will  a})preciate  more  quickly  than  you  imagine  the 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCE  MONT  61 

conditions  of  true  happiness.  Forget  for  a  little  while 
the  question  of  marriage.  Emilie  does  not  seem  dis- 
posed to  recall  it  to  your  mind.  She  says  you  are  so 
changed  that  she  does  not  feel  acquainted  with  you  any 
longer,  and  her  mind,  I  plainly  see,  has  no  fixed  plan  in 
regard  to  you.  You  are  both  absolutely  free  to  recom- 
mence the  romance  of  your  youth,  or  to  suffer  it  to  be 
effaced  in  the  rosy  clouds  of  the  past." 

I  am  not  easily  alarmed,  neither  am  I  heedless  of  con- 
sequences. I  saw  plainly  that  in  this,  as  in  everything 
else,  happiness  is  transitory,  and  security  chimerical.  I 
expected  that  the  day  which  restored  my  son  to  me 
would  be  one  of  the  happiest  of  my  life.  I  was  so  glad 
to  see  him  once  more,  and  had  such  happy  dreams  when 
expecting  him  !  In  spite  of  the  faults  which  he  freely 
confessed,  and  took  little  pains  to  conceal  in  his  letters, 
he  had  worked  hard,  and  was  at  the  commencement  of  a 
career  promising  a  brilliant  fortune.  He  was  intelligent, 
handsome,  good,  rich,  and  as  reasonable  as  could  be  ex- 
pected from  his  age  and  situation.  We  had  near  fit  hand 
the  best  girl  in  the  country,  rich  also,  good,  beautiful  as 
an  angel,  and  exceptionally  intellectual.  They  loved 
each  other,  and  had  been  betrothed  from  childhood.  1 
expected  to  see  them  meet  joyfully,  and  talk  of  marriage 
immediately — and  already  a  strange  coolness  had  sprung 
up  between  them.  My  wife,  whom  I  believed  amenable 
to  reason,  at  least  on  this  subject,  was  diligently  working 
to  set  them  at  variance.  Miette,  through  the  kindness  of 
her  heart,  was  involved  in  a  questionable  adventure. 
Jacques  was  carrying  on  an  amorous  intrigue  which  might 
compromise  or  bring  trouble  to  his  sister  ;  and,  worst  of 
all,  Henri,  troubled  and  tormented  between  love  and 
caprice,  did  not  sleep  the  first  night  passed  under  the 
paternal  roof,  and  was  evidently  suffering  fi-om  an   inde- 


62  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

finable  mental  condition  beyond  my  power  to  cure.  My 
day  of  happiness  was  not  unclouded,  and,  while  pretend- 
ing to  smile  at  these  trifling  matters,  I  was  considerably 
worried  by  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


The  evening  passed  very  cheerfully ;  many  relatives 
and  friends  dined  with  us.  Henri  was  a  general  favorite, 
and  every  one  congratulated  me  on  the  possession  of  si>ch 
a  son.  He  received  several  invitations,  but  only  accepted 
those  where  I  could  accompany  him.  He  had  been  away 
so  long,  he  said,  that  he  was  determmed  not  to  lose  sight 
of  me  during  the  vacation. 

We  accej^ted  for  the  next  day  an  invitation  to  a  shoot- 
ing-party, from  one  of  our  cousins  who  lived  so  far  off 
that  we  were  obliged  to  be  absent  from  home  a  couple  of 
days.  Jacques  Ormonde  promised  to  join  the  party,  but 
did  not  come.  We  scarcely  thought  of  his  absence,  the 
sport  and  the  dinner  were  so  animated  and  enjoyable ; 
but  I  noticed  his  evident  care  in  avoiding  us.  It  was 
very  difiicult  for  Jacques  to  keep  a  secret,  therefore  I  in- 
ferred that  he  had  one,  and  dreaded  my  scrutiny.  We 
stayed  a  day  longer  than  we  intended,  and  did  not  re- 
turn until  the  Monday  afternoon. 

The  object  that  first  attracted  my  attention,  as  I  bade 
my  wife  good-day,  was  a  j^i'etty  Tittle  girl  six  or  seven 
years  old,  full  of  smiles  and  play,  who^clung  to  her  skirts 
and  said  to  me  in  a  defiant  tone  :— 

"  Are  you  Bebelle's  husband  ?  " 

"  Who  is  Bebelle  ?  and  wlio  is  this  pretty  child  ?  " 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  63 

"  It  is  Mademoiselle  J^eonie  de  Nives,"  replied  my 
wife,  taking  her  in  her  arms ;  "  she  heard  me  called 
Madame  Chantebel,  and  she  finds  it  shorter  and  prettier 
to  call  me  Bebelle.  Oh  !  we  are  already  great  friends — 
is  it  not  so,  Ninie?     We  get  along  famously  together." 

"  But  how  came  you  to  be  acquainted  with  her  ?  "  1 
asked. 

My  wife  explained  the  matter,  while  the  child  left  us 
to  play  in  the  garden.  Madame  de  Nives  came  the  even- 
ing before  to  talk  with  me,  and  my  wife  had  gained  con- 
fidence enough  to  receive  her  to  the  best  of  her  ability* 
Tlie  exquisite  toilet  and  brilliant  equipage  of  the  countess 
had  turned  her  head.  Madame  did  her  best  to  be  agi-ee- 
able  and  fascinating  to  the  wife  of  the  lawyer  whom  she 
wished  to  secure  for  her  cause.  She  consented  to  let  her 
liorses  stand  in  the  stable  for  two  hours.  She  walked  in 
the  garden,  and  even  went  to  see  the  great  tower  of 
which  Madame  Chantebel  was  proud  to  do  the  honors. 
She  admired  the  locality,  the  garden,  the  house,  the  birds, 
and  promised  a  pair  of  real  Dutch  canaries  for  the  aviary. 
She  deigned  to  accept  a  collation  of  fruit  and  cake  that 
was  served  for  lier ;  declared  that  no  grapes  or  pears  at 
Nives  bore  any  comparison  with  ours  ;  even  asked  tlie 
recipe  for  the  cake.  She  went  away,  saying  she  should 
return  the  next  day. 

She  did  return,  as  she  promised,  with  her  daughter, 
ex2:)ecting  to  find  me  at  home,  as  I  had  appointed  to  be ; 
but  I  was  never  in  season.  This  poor  countess  had  waited 
for  me  more  than  an  hour;  then,  having  business  at  Riom, 
she  had  conferred  upon  my  house  the  distinguished  honor 
of  leaving  her  little  girl  there,  in  my  wife's  arms,  and  she 
was  now  expected  every  minute.  "  I  hope,  M.  Chante- 
bel," said  my  wife,  as  she  finished  the  story,  ''  that  you 
will  have  your  clothes  brushed,  for  they  are  covered  with 


64  THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

dust,  and  change  your  cravat,  for  it  is  very  much  soiled." 
I  noticed  that  she  was  richly  dressed  to  receive  her  new 
friend. 

A  little  while  after,  Madame  de  Nives  arrived,  and 
my  wife  hastened  to  meet  her,  leading  the  little  one  by 
the  hand.  The  countess  announced  to  me  that  she  was 
on  her  way  to  Paris,  some  one  having  written  her  that 
her  stepdaughter  had  been  seen  entering  an  hotel  in  the 
Faubourg  St-Germain,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  young 
man  very  tall  and  very  fair.  ''  The  person  who  gives  me 
this  information,"  she  added,  "  thinks  that  Marie  is  still 
there;  at  any  rate  1  shall  know  where  she  went  after 
leaving  this  hotel,  which  is  not  otherwise  designated. 
People  are  so  afraid  of  being  compromised,  or  finding 
themselves  implicated  in  some  scandal  !  I  must  go  myself 
to  find  out  the  truth.  I  shall  act  energetically,  take  Marie 
by  surprise,  oblige  her  to  make  a  statement  of  her  mis- 
conduct, and  bring  her  back  to  replace  her  triumphantly 
in  the  convent." 

"  You  are  going  too  far !  Then  any  reconciliation 
will  be  impossible,  any  concessions  on  her  part  hopeless. 
I  have  told  you,  and  I  repeat  it,  that  misconduct  does  not 
involve  deprivation  of  civil  rigiits." 

"  When  I  possess  her  secret,  I  will  bring  her  to  you, 
M.  Chantebel,  and  you  shall  lay  down  the  conditions  of 
my  silence." 

If  I  had  felt  certain  that,  before  taking  refuge  with 
Emilie,  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  after  escai^ing  from  the 
convent,  had  not  been  seen  in  Paris  with  Jacques,  either 
for  her  own  pleasure  or  for  advice  in  regard  to  her  posi- 
tion, I  should  have  hastened  the  departure  of  the  coun- 
tess. The  time  she  would  lose  in  lier  useless  search  for 
Mademoiselle  Marie  would  be  just  so  much  gained  for  the 
inhabitants  of  Vignolette  ;  .but,  if  this  journey  took  place 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  65 

without  Erailie's  knowledge,  Madame  de  Nives  could  trace 
out  the  fugitive,  and,  with  the  aid  of  the  police,  discover 
the  truth.  I  advised  once  more  patience  and  prudence. 
Madame  de  Nives  was,  however,  determined  to  have  her 
own  w^ay,  and  took  leave  of  me,  saying  that  to  surprise 
Marie  in  open  criminality  was  her  surest  means  of  safety. 
Whatever  she  might  say,  I  saw  plainly  that  she  had  taken 
other  advice  than  mine,  and  had  easily  found  persons  dis- 
posed to  gratify  her  passion  and  enter  into  her  views. 
/  Pier  cause  became  more  and  more  disagreeable  to  me, 
I  and  I  felt  strongly  impelled  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it. 

I  accompanied  her  only  as  far  as  the  garden.  Another 
client  was  waiting  for  me,  and  I  was  occupied  with  him 
until  dinner-time.  What  was  my  surprise  when,  upon  en- 
tering the  dining-room,  I  saw  the  young  Leonie  de  Nives 
seated  in  a  high  chair,  that  had  done  service  in  Henri's 
childhood,  and  my  wife  in  the  act  of  tying  a  napkin 
around  her  neck  ! 

Madame  de  Mveshad  confided  to  Madame  Chantebel, 
on  the  previous  evening,  all  that  she  had  intrused  to  me 
as  a  profomid  secret.  Women  have  a  marvellous  facility 
in  becoming  intimate,  when  hatred  on  one  side  and  curi- 
osity on  the  other  find  the  savory  aliment  of  a  scandal  to 
confide  and  to  listen  to.  Madame  Chantebel  was,  then, 
thoroughly  versed  in  all  the  details  of  the  case,  and  my 
astonishment  amused  her  very  much.  As  she  could  not 
enter  into  any  explanation  before  the  child,  she  simply 
said  to  Henri  and  me  that  "  her  mamma  would  return  in 
the  evening." 

"I  asked  her  to  stfcy  and  dine  with  us,''  said  my  wife, 
"  but,  as  she  intends  to  start  for  Paris  this  evening  or  to- 
morrow morning,  she  has  too  much  to  do  at  Riom,  and 
begged  me  to  keep  her  little  one  until  she  came  for  her." 


66  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

Madame  de  Nives  did  not  return  in  the  evening.  My 
wife  did  not  appear  to  be  much  astonished,  and  had  a 
little  bed  arranged  near  her  own  for  her  young  guest. 
After  undressing  Mademoiselle  Ninie,  and  sitting  by  her 
until  she  went  to  sleep,  she  came  back  to  explain  the 
mystery. 

Madame  de  Nives  had  been  obliged  to  take  the  live 
o'clock  train  for  Riom ;  she  was  now  on  her  way  to  Paris. 
I  ought  to  know  that  not  a  moment  should  be  lost  in  such 
an  important  affair  as  that  which  engrossed  her  attention. 
Madame  de  Nives  had  dreaded  the  tears  of  her  little 
daughter,  whom  she  could  not  take  with  her,  and  had  ac- 
cepted her  offer  to  keep  her  until  evening.  Her  nurse 
would  have  come  with  the  carriage  to  take  her  to  Nives, 
but  she  had  shown  much  anxiety  on  account  of  this  nurse, 
having  discovered  on  that  very  day  that  she  was  carrying 
on  an  intrigue  at  Riom.  "  The  servants  of  this  poor 
lady,"  my  wife  said,  "  were  not  as  faithful  as  they  should 
be.  Her  domestic  arrangements  had  not  prospered  at  the 
chateau  since  her  husband's  death.  The  old  servants  took 
the  side  of  the  elder  daughter.  She  was  obliged  to  turn 
them  out  of  the  house,  but  they  left  behind  their  evil  in- 
tluence  and  their  wicked  insinuations  ;  it  was  useless  to 
take  these  servants  to  Paris :  at  the  least  discontent  they 
became  insolent,  and  talked  to  Ninie  about  her  sister 
Mfjrie,  driven  away  and  shut  up  in  a  convent  on  her  ac- 
count. All  this  irritated  the  child,  and  during  the  last 
absence  of  the  countess  many  things  were  said  to  the  little 
girl  that  made  her  unhappy  and  disobedient  when  her 
mother  returned.  It  appears,  also,  that  Madame  de 
Nives's  neighbors  are  not  on  good  terms  with  her.  She 
has  neither  relatives  nor  friends;  she  is  truly  an  object 
of  pity. 

"  While  listening  to  her  grievances,  which  aroused  my 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  67 

sympathy,  the  idea  came  into  my  head  of  proposing  to 
take  care  of  the  little  one.  'If  the  nurse  has  behaved 
improperly,  you  cannot  trust  the  child  to  her  any  longer. 
Give  her  to  me ;  you  know  who  I  am,  and  with  what  in- 
dulgence I  brought  up  my  son  and  the  other  two  dear 
ones  I  lost.  You  say  that  you  will  be  absent  but  a  week 
at  most.  What  is  it  for  us  to  take  care  of  the  child  for 
a  week?  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me.  Trust  me  to  dis- 
miss your  bad  nurse  when  she  comes  back,  and  to  find 
another  for  whom  I  will  be  responsible  as  for  myself.' 
She  was  inclined  to  accept  my  offer,  but  dared  not  on 
your  account ;  she  said ;  '  My  child  is  noisy,  and  will 
annoy  M.  Chantebel.'  '  Nonsense  !  '  I  replied ;  '  you  do 
not  know  him  !  He  is  a  patriarch  !  He  is  good  as  bread, 
and  adores  children.'  At  last  I  urged  her  so  much  that 
she  left  me  her  darling,  who  is  a  love  of  a  child.  The 
poor  woman  was  so  touched  that  she  wept  and  embraced 
me  when  she  bade  me  good-by." 

"  Is  it  possible,  wife,  you  have  been  embraced  by  a 
countess !  That  is  the  reason  why  I  find  a  more  noble  ex- 
pression on  your  face  than  usual." 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  me  !  It  is  unsufferable  !  It  is 
of  no  use  to  try  any  longer  to  talk  reasonably  with  you, 
M.  Chantebel ;  you  are " 

"  Insufferable,  you  said." 

"No  ;  you  are  the  best  of  men,  you  cannot  blame  me 
for  having  received  a  poor  child  who  needs  to  be  taken 
care  of  and  watched  over  during  her  mother's  absence." 

"  God  keep  me  from  it ! — especially  as  you  pay  me 
compliments  whicli  I  have  no  desire  to  cliange  for  re- 
proaches.    The  child   does  not  make  me   angry  :  a  child 
never  annoys  me.     Keep  her. as  long  as  you  please ;  but(\ 
let  me  tell  you  that  your  countess  is  a  regular  fi-aud."         \ 

"A  fraud!  How  disrespectful  you  speak  of  the  Coun- 


68  THE  TO  WER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

tess  de  Nives.     What  manners  you  sometimes  nave,  M. 
Chantebel  ! " 

"  Yes  I  have  the  bad  manners  and  the  bad  taste  to 
think  that  a  reasonable  mother  does  not  trust  her  child, 
even  for  a  week,  to  a  person  whom  she  has  known  only 
since  last  evening,  and  that,  if  among  all  her  former  con- 
nections she  had  neither  a  devoted  relative,  nor  a  sincere 
friend,  nor  a  faithful  servant,  it  must  be  her  own  fault." 

"  You  are  right.  I  would  not  have  trusted  Henri  to 
strangers  in  this  way  ;  but  I  am  not  unknown  to  Madame 
de  Nives.  She  has  heard  me  spoken  of  often  enough  to 
know  that  I  have  always  been  a  good  mother  and  an  irre- 
proachable wife." 

"  It  is  not  I  who  will  say  anything  to  the  contrary  ; 
but  this  sudden  confidence  astonishes  me  none  the  less." 

"  There  are  exceptional  circumstances  ;  and  you  ought 
to  know  that  the  future  of  the  child  depends  upon  there- 
suit  of  her  mother's  visit  to  Paris." 

"  She  told  you,  then — " 

"  Everything." 

"  She  did  wrong." 

••  I  promised  to  keep  the  secret." 

"  God  grant  that  you  niay  keep  your  word  !  for  I 
\sarn  you  that,  if  your  new  friend  brings  reproach  upou 
the  reputation  of  her  stepdaughter,  she  is  ruined." 

"  Oh,  no !  This  stepdaughter  is  a  wretched  being 
who " 

*'  You  do  not  know  her  !  Keep  the  epithets  that  will 
be  appropriate  for  the  time  when  we  find  out  whether 
she  is  a  victim  or  a  fiend." 


rilE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT,  69 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  next  day,  Mademoiselle  ISTinie's  nurse  not  hav- 
ing made  her  appearance,  my  wife  found  an  excellent  ser- 
vant-girl whose  parents  lived  near,  and  with  whom  we 
were  well  acquainted,  to  take  her  place.  The  little  girl 
seemed  to  be  very  happy  with  us. 

I  was  curious  to  know  her  feelings  in  regard  to  her 
half-sister.  One  morning  I  saw  her  alone  in  the  garden; 
my  wife,  busy  with  her  work,  was  sitting  at  one  of  the 
lower  windows,  and  watching  the  little  girl  at  her  play. 
I  went  in  to. the  garden,  took  the  child  by  the  hand,  and 
led  her  to  see  some  rabbits  in  a  little  enclosure  where 
they  were  kept.  When  she  had  admired  them  for  some 
time,  I  took  her  on  my  knee,  and  began  to  talk  to  her. 
"  You  must  have,  at  Nives,"  I  said,  "  much  more  beautiful 
;abbits  than  these  ?  " 

"  No,  there  are  no  rabbits  at  all.  There  are  only  hens^ 
dogs,  and  cats  ;  but  m.amma  will  not  let  me  play  witli 
them  for  fear  that  I  shall  soil  or  tear  my  clothes,  and  this 
makes  me  angry,  for  I  am  very  fond  of  animals.  Mam- 
ma scolds  me  for  loving  them,  because  she  is  stingy." 

"  Stingy  !  What  does  that  word  mean  ?  " 

"Ah,  dear  me  !  I  don't  know.  The  servants  call  her 
so,  because  she  is  always  scolding  them." 

"  That  is  a  bad  word.  You  mus*  never  repeat  words 
that  you  do  not  know  the  meaning  of.  I  am  sure  your 
mamma  loves  you  veiy  much,  and  that  she  is  very  good 
to  you," 


70  THE  TOWER  OF  PEKCEMONT. 

"  She  is  not  good  at  all.     She  whips  me  and  smacks 
me,  and  I  only  amuse  myself  when  she  goes  away." 

"  Have  you  any  brothers  and  sisters?" 

*'  I  have  a  grown-up  sister  wlio  is  very  good.  I  should 
like  to  live  with  her  always." 

"  Always  !  Do  you  not  see  her  often  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  is  in  prison  in  a  convent.  I  saw  her — I 
mean  I  saw  her  portrait.     I  think  I  never  saw  her." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  that  she  is  good  ?  " 

"  My  nurse  and  the  old  gardener's  wife  told  me  that 
she  was  put  in  prison  because  she  was." 

"  What !  put  in  prison  brcause  she  is  good  ?  " 

"  So  it  seems.  Therefore,  when  mamma  tells  me  to 
be  good  I  answer  :  '  N"o  ;  you  would  make  me  go  to  pris- 
on in  the  same  way ! '  I  am  very  glad  she  brought  me  to 
your  house.     I  hope  you  will  let  me  stay  here  always." 

Then  without  waiting  for  my  reply,  Mademoiselle 
Ninie,  whom  I  had  hard  work  to  hold,  ran  after  the  rab- 
bits faster  than  ever.  I  saw  a  child  already  the  victim  of 
misfortune  and  a  wanderer  from  the  right  path.  I  no 
longer  doubted  that  her  mother  was  both  avaricious  and 
wicked.  It  was  even  possible  that  she  saw  in  her  daugh- 
ter only  a  pretext  for  contesting  Marie's  inheritance  with 
greater  avidity.  She  had  not  even  the  resource  of  hyp- 
ocrisy, the  power  of  making  dupes  ;  for  she  was  thorough- 
ly detested  ;  and  her  servants  had  disturbed  if  not  irre- 
trievably injured,  the  moral  sense  of  poor  N^inie. 

I  looked  with  painful  emotion  upon  this  bewitching 
child,  clothed  in  all  the  physical  beauty  of  her  happy  age, 
and  thought  that  there  was  already  a  gawning  worm  in 
the  heart  of  this  rose.  I  watched  her  closely  to  discover 
the  ruling  impulses  of  her  character:  they  were  good 
and  tender.  She  ran  after  the  rabbits  in  order  to  caress 
them,  and,  when  she  had  succeeded  in  catching  one,  she 


THE   TOWER  OE  FERCEMONT.  71 

covered  it  with  kisses  and  tried  to  swaddle  it  in  her  hand- 
kerchief, to  make  a  baby  of  it.  As  the  animal  was  un- 
manageable, and  threatened  to  scratch  her  pretty  face,  I 
took  him  away  gently,  without  opposition  on  her  part, 
and  gave  her  a  tame  dove,  which  made  her  wild  with  de- 
light. At  first  she  squeezed  it  very  closely,  but  when  I 
made  her  understand  that  she  must  let  it  go  free  in  order 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  it  come  back  and  follow 
her  of  its  own  accord,  she  listened  to  me  willingly,  and 
handled  it  gently  ;  but  there  was  an  ardor  in  her  ca- 
resses that  revealed  a  heart  full  of  unrequited  love  and 
repressed  sensibility. 

The  following  day,  St.  Hyacinth's  day,  was  my  birth- 
day, and  also  our  village  festival.  Two  or  three  dozen 
cousins  and  nephews  arrived,  with  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren to  pass  the  holiday  with  us.  They  went  to  partici- 
pate in  the  rural  fete,  while  my  wife,  up  with  the  dawn, 
prepared  a  Homeric  feast.  I  was  absorbed  as  usual  with 
a  crowd  of  clients — prosperous  peasants  or  humble  citi- 
zens— wlio,  taking  advantage  of  the  holiday  to  consult  me, 
deprived  me  of  the  pleasure  of  being  present  at  the  festi- 
al. 

I  endured  the  long  and  confused  explanations  of  these 
worthy  persons  until  the  first  bell  rang  for  dinner.  Then 
I  resolutely  put  them  out  of  doors,  not  without  a  strug- 
gle on  the  stairway  against  their  references  and  repeti- 
tions. When  I  entered  the  drawing-room,  shutting  the 
door  in  their  faces,  I  met  with  an  agreeable  surprise. 
Emilie  Ormonde  was  waiting  for  me,  with  a  large  bou- 
quet of  magnificent  roses  in  her  hand.  The  dear  child 
threw  herself  into  my  arms,  wishing  me  a  pleasant  birth- 
day, with  happiness,  good  fortune,  and  health. 

"  This  "  I  said  pressing  her  to  my  lieart. 


72  THE   TOWER  OE  PERCEMONT. 

enjoyment  which  I  did  not  exj^ect.  Have  you  been  here 
long,  my  dear  niece?  " 

''  I  have  just  arrived,  uncle,  and  I  am  going  awa/  im- 
mediately. You  must  excuse  me  from  dining  with  you 
as  in  otlier  years  ;  but  you  know  why  I  cannot.  Marie 
is  imprudent ;  she  is  tired  of  being  shut  up.  The  poor 
child  has  been  a  prisoner  so  long  !  Would  you  believe 
that  this  mornins:  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  disoruise 
herself  as  a  peasant  to  come  to  the  fete  ?  She  said  no 
one  knows  her  face,  and  she  wanted  to  accompany  me 
as  a  servant.  The  only  way  I  could  dissuade  her  from 
her  purpose  was  by  promising  to  be  gone  but  an  hour. 
I  could  not  let  the  day  pass  without  bringing  you  some 
Vignolette  roses,  nor  without  telling  you  to-day,  as 
always,  that  you  and  Jacques  are  the  two  persons  whom 
I  love  the  best  in  the  world." 

"  And  your  aunt  ? "  '  - 

"  I  hfave  not  seen  her.  I  will  pay  my  respects  to  her 
as  I  go  out." 

"  How  will  you  explain  the  reason  why  you  do  not 
«tay?" 

"  She  will  not  care  to  have  rae  stay,  uncle." 

*'  And  if  I  allow  you  to  go,  will  you  imagine  that  I 
do  not  love  you  any  longer  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  it  is  different  with  you !  And  besides  you 
know  I  have  a  child  to  take  care  of." 

"  Ah  unreasonable  child,  I  am  sure  of  it !  Do  you 
know  that  her  stepmother  was  here  two  days  ago  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  knew  also  'that  she  left  her  little  girl  with 
you." 

'*  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  Old  Nicole's  daughter,  who  came  yesterday  to  bring 
back  some  "baskets  you  had  lent  us.     She  saw  the  child, 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  73 

and  WHS  told  that  the  mother  had  gone  to  Paris.  Is  it 
true  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  and  Mademoiselle  Marie  runs  a  great  risk 
of  being  discovered,  if,  after  escaping  from  the  convent, 
she  were  seen  in  Paris  before  coming  to  your  house." 

"•  She  was  there,  uncle  ;  I  know  it  now.  She  was 
obliged  to  purchase  underclothing  and  dresses,  and 
especially  to  seek  counsel  in  her  affairs,  concerning  which 
slie  had  always  been  kept  in  entire  ignorance." 

"  She  was  in  Paris — alone  ?  " 

"  No,  wdth  her  nursje,  the  one  who  helped  her  to 
escape.  This  woman  is  devoted  to  her,  and  yet  I  am 
afraid  of  her ;  she  does  not  understand  the  necessity  of 
being  prudent ;  she  suspects  nothing,  and,  when  she 
comes  to  see  Marie,  I  do  not  dare  to  leave  her  alone  in 
the  house  with  her." 

"But  where  is  Jacques' all  this  timer  " 

"  He  must  be  at  the  dance,  and  doubtless  he  will  come 
and  dine  with  you." 

"  That  is  right !  Go,  then,  if  you  must.  I  hope  you 
will  make  ample  amends  to  me  when  you  are  no  more 
the  guardian  slave  of  your  beautiful  friend.  Have  you 
seen  Henri  ?  "  • 

''  No ;  I  have  seen  and  wish  to  see  no  one  but  you. 
Adieu  until  we  meet  again,  dear  uncle  !  " 

The  second  bell  rang  for  dinner  as  my  niece  went 
away  through  the  farmyard,  where  she  had  left  her 
vehicle  in  charge  of  a  domestic.  Henri,  who  passed 
through  the  garden,  did  not  see  her.  The  crowd  of 
nephews,  cousins,  second-cousins,  and  grand-nephews 
arrived,  and  at  last  came  Jacques  Ormonde,  red  as  a 
peony  from  having  danced  until  the  last  minute.  The 
dinner  was  not  very  tedious  for  a  family  repast  in  the 


74  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

country ;  it  was  well  known  that  I  did  not  like  to  sit 
long  at  table.  It  was  served  promptly,  and  did  not  allow 
of  the  guests  going  to  sleep  while  they  were  eating.  As 
soon  as  it  was  finished,  feeling  the  need  of  breathing  the 
out-door  air,  after  the  confinement  my  clients  had  im- 
posed upon  me  in  the  morning,  I  proposed  to  go  and 
take  coffee  at  old  Rosier's,who  kept  a  rustic  establishment 
in  the  village.  We  could  see  the  dances  and  diversions 
from  his  garden.  My  proposition  was  enthusiastically 
welcomed  by  my  young  nieces  and  cousins.  We  set  off 
laughing,  shouting,  frisking  about,  and  singing.  The 
village  was  only  half  a  mile  from  the  house,  taking  tlie 
paths  through  my  meadows. 

Our  boisterous  arrival  brought  all  the  young  people 
out  of  the  wine-shops.  They  were  getting  ready  to  light 
up,  for  it  was  becoming  dark.  They  called  the  fiddlers, 
scattered  around  in  the  cabarets,  together.  The  young 
folks  who  came  wdth  me  cared  little  for  drinking  coffee ; 
they  wished  to  dance.  The  fete  brightened  up  very  much. 
The  dance,  abandoned  for  a  time,  was  reorganized,  as  is 
usually  the  case  when  hunger  is  appeased  and  the  even- 
ing begins. 

Curing  this  quarter  of  an  hour  of  impatient  expecta- 
tion and  joyful  disorder,  I  chanced  to  be  alone  for  a  few 
minutes  on  old  Hosier's  terrace.  This  terrace  was  a  lit- 
tle garden,  planted  with  hazel-bushes,  on  the  declivity  of 
a  hill,  and  about  six  feet  above  the  level  of  the  place 
where  they  were  dancing.  It  was  much  the  prettiest 
place  for  obtaining  a  general  view  of  the  fete.  Three 
blue  lanterns  concealed  in  the  foliage  gave  the  appear- 
ance of  moonlight,  and  made  it  easy  for  persons  to  rec- 
ognize each  other.  The  illumination  had,  however,  not 
commenced,  and  I  was  waiting  in  the  obscurity  until  my 
turn  came  to  be  served,  when  I  perceived  some  one  ap- 


THE   TOWER  OE  PERCEMONT  75 

proaching  with  a  stealthy  step,  who  touched  me   lightly 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  uncle ;  it  is  I,  Emilie." 
"  What  are  you  doing  here,   dear  child  ?     I  thouglit 
you  had  gone  home." 

"I  have  been  home — and  come  back,  uncle.  Are  we 
alone  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  at  this  moment ;  but  speak  low." 
"  Yes,  certainly  !     I  must  tell  you  that  1  did  not  find 
Marie  at  Yignolette.       Nicole  told  me  that   Charliette 
came  in  my  absence,  and  that  they  went  out  together." 
"  Well !  you  think  they  are  liere  ?  " 
*'  Yes,  I  think  so ;  and  I  am  looking  for  them." 
"  In  this  way,   entirely  alone   among  these   peasants 
flushed  with  wine,   many  of  whom  are   not  acquainted 
with  you,  for  they  come  here  from  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try?" 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  anything,  uncle.  There  are 
enough  who  are  acquainted  with  me  to  protect  me  in 
case  of  need.  Besides,  Jacques  will  be  here,  and  I 
thought  you  would  take  care  of  me." 

"  Then  do  not  leave  me,  and  let  your  madcap  friend 
follow  her  own  adventures.  It  is  not  right" that,  to  save 
a  person  who  does  not  wish  to  be  saved,  you  should  ex- 
pose yourself  to  insult.  Remain  with  me.  I  will  not 
allow  you  to  take  care  of  Mademoiselle  Marie.  Jacques 
is  here  to  take  care  of  her  in  your  place  and  in  his  own 
way." 

"  Jacques  does  not  know  her,  uncle.    I  assure  you — " 
I  interrupted  Miette  by  making  a  sign  for  her  to  ob- 
serve a  couple  moving  stealthily  along  the  rock  below  us 
in  the  thick  shade  that  the  hazel-bushes  threw  upon  the 
lower  ground-plot.     I   recognized  Jacques's  voice.     We 


76  'J^IIE   TO  WER  OF  FEKCEMONT. 

remained  motionless,  listening,  and  heard  the  following 
dialogue : 

"  No  ;  I  will  not  go  back  yet.  I  want  to  dance  the 
hourree  with  you.  It  is  dark ;  and,  besides,  no  one 
knows  me." 

"  They  will  soon  light  up,  and  every  one  will  notice 
you." 

"  You  ask  the  reason  ?  Do  you  believe  there  is  an- 
other peasant  girl  here  as  fair,  as  slender,  as  pretty  as 
you  are  ?  " 

"  You  are  flattering  me.     I  will  tell  Miette." 

"  You  had  better  not  boast  of  my  acquaintance  !  " 

"  I  know  it  is  not  worth  speaking  of." 

"  Cruel  creature  !  Come,  call  Charliette,  and  go  home 
with  her." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  cruel !  How  can  you  refuse  me 
this  little  enjoyment  ?  " 

"  My  uncle  is  here,  and  you  know  that  he  is  your  step- 
mother's adviser." 

"  That  makes  no  difference  to  me  ;  he  will  be  mine  if 
I  wish.  When  he  knows  me,  he  will  be  on  my  side. 
You  said  so  yourself.  Come.  Jacques,  here  are  the  bag- 
pipes coming.     I  must  dance." 

"  It  is  absolute  madness  !  " 

"  Oh,  to  dance  the  hourree  as  in  my  childhood  !  To 
have  been  ten  years  in  a  dungeon,  to  escape  from  the  icy 
coldness'  of  death,  to  feel  myself  alive,  and  to  dance  the 
hourreel  Jacques,  my  good  Jacques,  I  have  set  my  heart 
upon  it !  " 

The  noisy  music  of  the  bagpipes  interrupted  the  con- 
versation, or  prevented  us  from  hearing  it.  The  large 
lantern  at  the  top  of  the  pole  was  at  last  lighted,  and  old 
Hosier's   garden  was   also   illuminated.      I   saw  all  my 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCE  MO  NT.  77 

guests  ;  those  who  were  not  dancing  were*  taking  the 
coffee  I  had  ordered,  while  the  young  men,  scattered  over 
the  open  space,  were  inviting  their  partners  for  the  dance. 

I  moved  a  few  steps  out  of  the  way  with  Emilie,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  prolong  my  tete-a-tete  with  her, 
without  ceasing  to  observe  what  was  taking  place  on  the 
green.  When  the  lantern  burned  brightly,  we  saw  very 
distinctly  the  burly  Jacques  bounding  in  the  dance  and 
lifting  in  his  arms  a  slender  and  pretty  peasant-girl,  very 
gracefully  attired. 

"  It  is  indeed  she !  "  said  Emilie,  in  consternation  ;  "  it 
is  Marie,  disguised  !  " 

'"  You  b^gin  to  think  that  she  is  a  little   acquainted 
with  your  brother  ?  " 

"  I  was  deceived,  uncle — ah  !  very  much  deceived  ! 
He  has  done  wrong." 

"And  now  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Wait  until  her  fancy  is  gratified,  approach  her,  speak 
to  her  gently  as  to  a  domestic  in  my  service,  and  take 
her  home  before  she  has  attracted  too  much  attention." 

"  Wait  nntil  I  look  at  her." 

"Do  you  think  she  is  pretty,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,indeed;  very  pretty,  and  she  dances  admirably." 

"  Look  at  her  critically,  uncle  ;  you  will  see  that  she 
is  a  child,  utterly  unconscious  of  what  she  is  doing.  I  am 
certain  that  she  has  not  the  least  idea  of  causing  me  or 
any  one  else  trouble.  It  is  possible  that  she  has  become 
acquainted  with  Jacques  without  my  knowledge  ;  that  he 
has  helped  her  to  escape,  accompanied  her  to  Paris,  as 
you  think,  brought  her  even  to  my  door,  and  seen  her 
secretly  since ;  that  they  love  each  other,  are  betrothed, 
and  have  deceived  me  to  avoid  the  obstacle  of  my  con- 
scientious scruples." 

"  It  is  even  certain  now." 


i 


78  T//E  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

" Very  well,  uncle,  it  matters  little;  Marie  is  still 
pure,  and  more  ignorant  than  I  am  ;  for  I  know  from 
what  danger  a  girl  twenty-two  years  old  must  be  kept, 
while  she — is  still  like  a  child  of  twelve  !  In  the  couA^ent 
she  learned  nothing  of  those  things  she  needs  most  to 
know  at  the  present  time.  She  is  just  the  same  as  I  left 
her  at  the  Riom  convent,  fond  of  movement,  noise,  free- 
dom, and  dancing,  but  not  suspecting  that  she  can  become 
blameworthy,  and  incapable  of  permitting  any  impro- 
priety in  Jacques." 

"  However,  my  dear  Miette,  when  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives  was  at  the  convent,  and  only  fourteen  or  fifteen 
years  old,  she  had  a  lover  who  wrote  her  letters  badly 
spelled,  and  this  lover  was  Jacques." 

*'  No,  uncle,  this  lover — must  I  tell  you  ? — it  was  an 
entirely  innocent  affair." 

"  Tell  me  everything." 

"  Well,  this  lover  was  your  son — it  was  Henri." 
"  "  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  " 

''"-'  *'  Yes,  I  saw  tlie  letters,  and  recognized  the  writing. 
Henri  was  then  at  college,  the  grounds  of  which  were 
only  separated  by  a  wall  from  the  convent;  the  students 
threw  balls  over  the  walls,  and  concealed  letters  in  them, 
declarations  of  love,  of  course,  in  prose  or  verse,  with 
full  signatures,  and  addressed  at  random  to  Loui&e, 
Charlotte,  Marie.  Henri  was  delighted  with  this  sport, 
and  excelled  in  writing  in  the  style  of  a  shoemaker,  with 
a  corresponding  orthography.  He  signed  his  name 
tTaquet^  and  addressed  his  burlesque  loveletters  to  Marie, 
who  made  fun  of  them.  He  knew  her  Christian  name, 
for  he  often  heard  it  called  out  in  our  garden  ;  but  did 
not  take  the  trouble  to  find  out  whether  she  was  pj-etty 
or  not,  for  neither  at  this  time  nor  since  has  he  ever  seen 
her  face.     She  told  me  the  whole  story." 


THE  TOWER  OF  FERCEMONT,  79 

"You  are  sure  that  he  never  saw  her ?  I  have  my 
doubts — look,  Miette,  look." 

The  bou7'ree  was  finished  ;  the  dancers  were  going  to 
commence  again,  and,  at  the  moment  when  Jacques  was 
about  to  lead  out  his  partner,  Henri,  addressing  her, 
invited  her  for  the  next  dance.  She  accepted,  regardless 
of  Jacque's  visible  disapprobation.  She  took  my  son's 
arm,  and  danced  with  him,  manifesting  as  much  enjoy- 
ment as  when  dancing  with  my  nephew. 

"  Well !  what  does  this  prove  ?  "  said  the  good  Emilie, 
without  any  appearance  of  vexation.  "  Henri  has  noticed 
this  pretty  girl,  and  said  to  himself,  that,  since  Jacques 
has  danced  with  her,  he  could  do  the  same.  Permit  me, 
uncle,  to  go  near  her,  for  she  begins  to  make  a  sensation, 
and  every  one  will  be  asking  her  to  dance.  I  must  take 
her  aw^y.  Charliette  is  here^-I  see  her  ;  but  she  spoils 
her,  and  will  allow  her  to  remain  long  enough  to  attract 
too  much  attention." 

"  Go,  then  ;  but  all  this  annoys  me  excessively.  Tids 
girl  is  possessed.  She  will  cause  you  a  thousand  cares, 
will  certainly  injure  your  reputation.  Meantime,  she 
dances  with  Henri,  while,  excepting  for  her  presence 
under  your  roof,  he  would  have  renewed  the  tender  and 
serious  pledge  of  your  mutual  affection,  and  to-day  he 
would  have  opened  the  ball  with  his  betrothed,  instead  of 
dancing  with  a  fair  unknown,  whose  beautiful  eyes  may 
perhaps  arouse  his  passionate  admiration  but  will  not  be 
able  to  gain  a  permanent  hold  upon  his  heart." 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  Miette,  with  a  profound  expres- 
sion of  sorrowful  n^signation. 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  I  exclaimed.  ''  I  know  that  I  will 
not  suffer  the  least  coquetry  between  your  and  your 
brother's  betrothed !  " 

"  Uncle,   do    not   betray  her !  "    quickly   replied   the 


80  THE  TOURER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

generous  girl.  "  Whatever  happens,  I  have  promised  to 
devote  myself  to  her  service,  both  as  a  sister  and  a 
mother.     I  will  keep  my  word." 

An  unexpected  incident  interrupted  us.  Jacques  Or- 
monde, seeing  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  wild  with  excite- 
ment, and  regardless  of  consequences,  contrived  a  plan  for 
interrupting  the  ball.  He  climbed  up  to  the  large  lantern, 
as  if  he  were  going  to  light  his  cigar,  and  put  it  out,  ap- 
])arently  without  intention,  plunging  the  assembly  into 
darkness.  As  he  descended,  he  pretended  to  laugh  loudly 
at  the  accident,  and  was  lost  in  the  sliglit  tumult  it  pro- 
duced. There  were  a  few  moments  of  astonishment  and 
disorder.  Some  continued  to  dance,  feigning  to  mistake 
their  partners;  others  were  honestly  looking  for  theirs. 
Some  modest  girls,  frightened,  sought  the  protection 
of  their  parents  ;  others,  more  bold,  laughed  and  shouted 
as  loud  as  they  could.  I  descended  from  the  terrace 
with  Miette ;  at  the  moment  wliQn  the  light  was  re- 
kindled,we  saw  Jacques,  wandering,  disappointed,  looking 
around  among  the  different  groups ;  Henri  and  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Nives  had  disappeared,  either  with  or  with- 
out Charliette. 

I  saw  then  that  Miette  still  loved  Henri,  for  great 
tears  glistened  for  a  minute  on  her  cheeks.  She  tried  to 
conceal  them,  and,  turning  towards  me,  "  We  must,"  she 
said,  "  prevent  Jacques  from  making  any  further  search. 
He  cannot  conceal  his  feelings,  and  his  anxiety  will  be 
noticed." 

"  Never  fear,"  I  replied,  "  Jacques  knows  very  well 
how  to  keep  his  own  counsel ;  you  cannot  doubt  it  any 
longer.  He  will  take  good  care,  if  he  is  jealous,  not  to 
pick  a  quarrel  with  Henri,  for  this  would  betray  or  avow 
everything.  If  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  has  chosen  Henri 
for  her  attendant,  and  he  takes  her  back  to  Vignolette, 


--     I 


THE   TOWER  OE  P^^^^^^^'^^'.^    ^" 

you  must  not  let  them  see  that  you  are  uneasy  or  jeal- 
ous." 

"  Certainly  not,  uncle,  I  am  neither  ;  but — " 

"  But  here  is  Jacques,  who  sees  you,  and  is  coming 
towards  us.  It  is  not  the  time  for  explanations  ;  appear 
to  be  ignorant  of  everything.  Presently  I  will  make  him 
confess." 

"  I  did  not  expect  the  pleasure  of  seeing  y  eu,"  said 
Jacques  to  Emilie  ;  "  you  told  me  you  were  not  coming  to 
the  fete.." 

"I  have  just  come,"  replied  Miette.  ''I  had  some- 
thing to  say  to  my  uncle.  I  knew  that  he  would  be  here 
this  evening." 

"  And  you  have  seen — only  him  ?  "  said  Jacques, 
almost  distracted. 

"Only  him?  Indeed,  I  haj;^  seen  a  great  many 
people." 

''  I  thought  you  were  looking  for  some  one  ?  " 

"  I  was  looking  for  no  one  but  my  uncle,  and  you 
see  plainly  that  I  have  found  him.  What  is  the  matter 
with  you,  and  why  do  you  look  so  troubled  ?  " 

Jacques  saw  that  he  had  betrayed  himself,  and 
hastened  to  reply  with  a  forced  air  of  gayety : — "  I  am 
not  troubled  about  anything !  I  am  looking  for  Henri, 
that  he  may  be  my  vis-a-vis  in  the  dance — with  you,  if 
you  wish." 

"  Thanks,  I  am  going  away.  My  vehicle  is  waiting 
for  me  under  the  pines  yonder.  Please  tell  old  Pierre  to 
put  the  bridle  on  the  mare.     I  will  follow  you." 

"  Why  are  you  hurrying  away  ?  "  I  asked  my  niece, 
as  soon  as  Jacques  had  started  off.  "  Henri  is  here 
without  doubt,  and, if  you  desire  it,  will  dance  with  you." 

"  Uncle,  Henri  has  gone  with  Marie  ;  they  are  on  their 
way  to  Vignolette." 


82  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

"  It  is  possible — everything  is  possible  :  but  upon 
reflection,  it  is  very  improbable  ;  you  said  they  did  not 
know  each  other  ?  Do  you  now  think  your  young  charge 
so  foolish  and  imprudent  as  to  have  made  Henri  her  con- 
fidant ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  the  matter,  my  dear  uncle  ; 
I  do  not  understand  her  any  longer  ! " 

*'  She  is  coquettish  and  frivolous,  that  is  plain  ;  how- 
ever— " 

"  They  were  talking  with  much  earnestness  during 
the  hourree  and  yesterday  Marie  wrote  a  letter  which  she 
intrusted  to  the  letter-carrier  with  great  secrecy." 

"  You  suppose — what  ?  " 

"  She  has  a  great  desire  to  see  you  and  ask  your  advice. 
I  was  obliged  to  tell  her  of  your  refusal.  She  then 
questioned  me  more  tl\^n  she  had  ever  done  before  about 
Henri,  his  character,  and  the  influence  he  possessed  over 
you.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  she  had  commissioned 
him  to  ask  you  for  an  interview." 

"  If  she  wrote  to  him  yesterday,  he  would  have  spoken 
to  me  to-day.  I  believe  you  are  mistaken  ;  whatever  it 
is,  we  shall  see  very  soon.  If  she  has  selected  him  for  ail 
intermediary,  he  will  tell  me  so  this  evening.  Now,  what 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  Return  home  quietly  at  a  slow  pace.  As  Marie  is 
probably  going  home  on  foot,  I  want  to  give  her  time  to 
return  to  Vignolette,  take  off  her  disguise,  and  go  to  bed 
without  telling  me  anything,  unless  she  pleases.  You 
understand,  uncle  ?  If  she  confesses  her  inconsiderate 
act,  I  shall  have  a  right  to  scold  her  and  question  her. 
If  she  wants  to  conceal  it  from  me,  I  cannot  reproach  her 
without  making  her  angry  and  humiliating  her  very  much. 
Remember  she  is  under  my  roof,  and  has  no  other  asylum  ; 
if  I  offend  her,  she  will  leave  me,  and  wh^re  then  would 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCE AfO/^T.  83 

she  go  ?  To  Charliette's,  whom  I  believe  capable  of  any- 
thing ?  N'o,  she  must  not  quit  rae,  for  she  would  com- 
promise herself,  and  give  her  stepmother  the  means  of 
destroying  her  reputation  !  " 

''  In  til  is,  as  in  everything,  you  are  as  wise  as  you  are 
generous,  ray  dear  Emilie.  Say  nothing  to  her,  if  she  is 
silly  enough  to  wish  to  deceive  you ;  but  I  will  speak  to 
Jacques  !  Never  mind  !  he  will  not  dream  that  you  heard 
his  conversation  with  the  damsel." 

We  arrived  at  this  moment  under  the  pines  where, 
owing  to  want  of  room  in  the  inn,  a  number  of  horses 
were  tied  to  the  trees.  Jacques  had  not  troubled  himself 
particularly  about  delivering  his  sister's  message  to  the 
old  servant.  He  was  searching  in  all  directions,  looking 
always  for  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  and  finding  it  very 
difficult  to  obtain  information  in  any  other  way  than  by 
his  eyes,  which  were  of  little  use  to  him  in  the  thick  shade 
of  the  pine-grove.  Obliged  to  come  at  my  call,  he  helped 
me  in  seeing  Emilie  safely  started  for  home.  Then 
taking  his  arm,  I  led  him  to  an  unfrequented  path,  and 
said  : — *'  Let  us  see,  young  man,  what  you  intend  to  do, 
and  what  will  be  the  end  of  this  fine  intrigue." 

In  three  words  I  convinced  him  I  knew  everything, 
and  that  it  was  perfectly  useless  to  deny  it.  He  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  replied  : — "  Oh  uncle !  you  confound 
me ;  but  you  release  me  from  torture,  and  excepting  for 
the  penalty  of  being  severely  scolded,  I  am  delighted  at 
the  opportunity  of  telling  you  the  truth." 


84  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  I  WAS  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Mves,"  said 
Jacques,  ''  when  she  was  at  the  Riom  convent.  I  had 
left  college  for  a  long  time,  though  Henri  was  still  there, 
and  was  intending  to  go  to  Paris  to  commence  ray  law- 
studies.  I  was  passing  my  vacation  at  our  town  house, 
and  from  one  of  the  dormer-windows  of  the  loft  frequently 
saw  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  standing  at  the  window  of 
her  cell  looking  out  upon  the  convent-garden.  It  is  true, 
she  was  but  fourteen  years  old ;  but  she  was  already 
beautiful  as  an  angel ;  and  at  the  age  I  had  then  reached 
admiration  for  beauty  may  really  be  called  love.  But  I 
was  too  little  accustomed  to  persons  of  her  condition  to 
think  of  making  a  declaration  of  my  passion,  and  if  by 
chance  she  turned  her  head  in  my  direction  I  quickly  hid 
Avhere  she  could  not  see  me. 

"  One  Sunday  Henri,  who  came  to  pay  me  a  visit,  not 
finding  me  in  the  house,  took  it  into  his  head  to  look  for 
me  up  in  the  loft,  where  he  discovered  me  absorbed  in 
contemplation,  and  made  fun  of  me.  I  hurried  him  from 
the  room  in  great  haste,  lest  he  should  see  the  beautiful 
charmer  who  occupied  my  thoughts.  As,  however,  he 
persisted  in  teasing  me  with  epigrams,  I  confessed  that  I 
was  in  love  with  a  certain  Marie  in  the  convent.  The 
malicious  fellow  took  it  into  his  head,  to  write  ridiculous 
letters  to  her  under  the  signature  of  '  Jacques,'  and  she 
imprudently  made  fun  of  them  with  her  companions. 
They  laughed  too  loud,  and  the  nuns,  who  kept  watch, 
seized  the  l)alls,  in  which  were  concealed  the  love-letters, 


THE  TOWER  OF PERCEMONT.  85 

thrown  over  the  college-wall.  Madame  de  Nives  was  in- 
formed of  this  grave  offence.  She  used  it  as  a  pretext 
for  transferring  Marie  to  the  convent  of  Clermont,  where 
she  passed  a  most  unhappy  youth. 

"  She  will  tell  you  herself  what  she  suffered,  uncle ; 
for  she  has  set  her  heart  upon  seeing  you  and  asking  your 
advice  and  protection.  You  must,  indeed,  listen  to  her. 
During  this  time  I  forgot  her,  willing  or  not,  for  I  was  in 
Paris,  and  my  childish  dreams  gave  place  to  more  serious 
realities.  However,  I  learned  how  much  the  poor  girl 
was  to  be  pitied  through  my  fault  and  Henri's.  He  knew 
nothing  about  it,  as  Miette  only  told  me,  and  sametimes 
she  showed  me  her  friend's  letters,  which  gave  me  great 
pain;  but  w^hat  could  I  do  to  repair  the  injury  ?  I  was 
not  an  eligible  match  for  her,  and  could  not  ask  her  hand 
in  marriage ;  besides,  the  countess  did  not  wish  her  to  be 
married.  Sho  was  determined  to  force  her  to  become  a 
nun,  pretending  that  her  stepdaughter  wished  to  devote 
herself  to  a  religious  life,  and  rejected  the  idea  of  mar- 
riage. 

"  Chance  alone  could  bring  about  the  events  that  fol- 
lowed. I  found  myself  thoughtlessly  involved  in  a  ro- 
mance, and  obliged  to  accept  the  part  assigned  me.  Two 
years  since,  I  was  at  Clermont  on  account  of  an  affair  of 
which  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  speak.  All  the  hotels 
were  full,  as  it  was  during  the  assizes.  I  was  passing 
through  the  streets  with  my  valise  in  my  hand  in  search 
of  a  lodging,  when  I  met  Charliette  face  to  face.  I  had  a 
vague  idea  that  this  woman,  married  and  settled  at  Riom, 
had  been  Mademoiselle  de  Nives's  nurse,  but  I  was  igno- 
rant that  she  had  remained  faithful  to  her  charge  as  a  dog 
to  its  master.  I  did  not  even  know  that,  on  account  of 
this  devotion,  she  and  her  husband  had  since  taken  up 
their  residence  at  Clermont.     I  repeat  it,  and  I  solemnly 


86  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

assure  you,  my  dear  uncle,  that  chance  alone  has  been  the 
powerful  agent  in  all  that  concerns  me. 

"  Charliette  had  been  pretty  ;  she  has  still  a  fresh  and 
agreeable  countenance.  I  had  been  civil  to  her  at  an  age 
wlien  I  had  no  idea  of  anything  else.  We  were,  there- 
fore, very  well  acquainted,  and  I  was  glad  to  meet  her.  I 
(ionfided  my  embarrassment  to  her,  asking  if  she  knew  of 
any  furnished  room  that  would  answer  my  purpose. 

"  '  You  need  not  go  far,'  she  replied  :  *  I  have  a  fur- 
nished room  that  is  very  clean.  I  do  not  use  it,  and  I 
shall  ask  you  no  rent  for  it — too  happy  to  render  a  service 
to  a  countryman,  and  especially  to  Mademoiselle  Miette's 
brother,  for  slie  is  so  good  and  ready  to  render  any  one  a 
service.     Come  and  see  if  the  lodging  suits  you.' 

"  I  followed  her  down  a  narrow,  dark  lane,  bordered 
on  either  side  by  high  walls,  and  entered  into  an  old 
house  more  picturesque  than  pleasant ;  but  the  chamber 
in  question  answered  my  purpose,  and  Charliette's  hus- 
band offered  it  to  me  so  cordially  that,  lest  I  should  hurt 
the  feelings  of  these  worthy  persons,  I  immediately  took 
possession.  I  intended  to  have  my  dinner  at  a  hotel, 
but  they  would  not  hear  of  it.  Charliette  said  that  she 
had  formerly  been  cook  at  the  Chateau  deNives,  and  was 
sure  she  could  suit  me.  In  truth,  her  cooking  was  excel- 
lent;  but  I  am  not  aristocratic,  and  do  not  like  to  eat 
alone.  I  accepted  only  on  condition  of  having  my  hosts 
at  my  table,  and  of  seeing  them  served  at  my  expense  in 
the  same  manner  as  I  was. 

"  The  same  night  I  went  out  to  meet  some  one,  taking 
a  key  of  the  house  with  me.  This  does  not  interest  you, 
uncle ;  but  I  am  obliged  to  tell  you  in  order  to  explain 
the  conversation  I  had  with  Charliette  the  next  evening. 
Her  husband  had  gone  to  the  workshop,  and  I  was  sitting 
at  the  table  with  her,  tasting  a  quince-cordial  of  her  mak- 


THE    TO  WER  OF  PERCEMONT.  87 

ing  that  had  been  bottled  at  least  ten  years,  when  she  said 
to  me  :  '  Are  you  going  to  run  away  again  this  evening, 
and  return  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning:?  Poor  fellow  ! 
your  health  will  be  ruined  by  such  late  hours;  it  would 
be  far  better  for  you  to  marry  and  settle  down  quietly. 
Have  you  never  thought  of  it  ? ' 

"  'No,  indeed,'  I  answered.  '  I  have  not  yet  exhausted 
the  pleasures  of  youth.* 

"  '  But  when  you  have,  it  will  be  too  late,  and  you  will 
find  nothing  but  a  rejection  of  your  offers.  If  you  will 
be  reasonable,  even  while  you  are  still  young  and  hand- 
some, I  can  perhaps  make  a  match  for  you  beyond  your 
hopes.' 

"  At  first  I  laughed  at  Charliettc,  but  she  insisted  so 
much,  that  at  length  I  was  forced  to  listen  to  her.  She 
talked  of  a  fortune  of  more  than  a  million,  and  a  young 
girl  of  noble  birth  whom  I  already  knew,  since  I  had  been 
in  love  with  her.  '  Ah  ! '  said  I,  '  can  it  be  possible  that 
you  are  speaking  of  the  little  De  Nives  ? ' 

"  '  The  little  De  Nives,'  she  replied,  '  is  now  a  young 
lady  nineteen  years  old,  beautiful  and  good  as  an  angel.' 

"  *  But  she  is  in  the  convent  ?  ' 

"  *  Yes,  on  the  other  side  of  this  wall  against  which 
you  are  leaning.' 

"  *  Indeed.' 

"It  is  just  as  I  tell  you.  This  old  house,  where  we 
are,  forms  one  of  the  outbuildings  of  the  convent.'  I  set- 
tled here  as  a  tenant  soon  after  Mademoiselle  Marie  was 
shut  up  in  the  convent.  I  promised  to  follow  her,  and  we 
arranged  beforehand  a  plan  of  action.  \  knew  how  to  play 
my  part,  although  I  could  not  conceal  that  I  had  been  her 
nurse.  The  nuns,  who  wished  to  force  her  to  take  the 
veil,  distrusted  me  a  little  when  I  asked  for  work,  and 
questioned  me  adroitly  to  find  out  whether  I  should  en 


88  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

courage  the  resistance  of  the  young  novice.  I  was  more 
shrewd  than  they  were :  I.  replied  that  Marie  was  alto- 
gether wrong,  that  theirs  was  the  happiest  condition  in 
life,  and  that  I  had  always  advised  her  to  adopt  it.  They 
brought  us  face  to  face  ;  but  we  were  on  our  guard.  She 
received  me  very  coldly,  and  I  accosted  her  in  the  harsh 
tone  of  a  devotee  determined  to  preach  her  a  sermon. 
She  declined  to  listen  to  me.  The  farce  was  well  played. 
The  nuns  thought  a  great  deal  of  me,  and  intrusted  me 
with  the  washing  of  the  linen  for  the  chapel.  I  did  it  so 
well,  and  showed  myself  so  assiduous  in  the  performance 
of  convent  duties,  that  I  was  soon  looked  upon  as  one  of 
the  regular  servants  of  the  community,  and  was  free  to 
go  where  I  wished,  and  communicate  as  much  as  I  pleased 
with  Marie.  If  you  will  go  upstairs  with  me  I  will  re- 
veal a  secret  that  you  must  not  betray.  Your  sister  is 
the  best  friend  of  my  dear  little  one,  and  you  would  not 
wish  to  add  to  her  unhappiness.' 

"  I  swore  to  keep  the  secret,  and  went  up  a  little 
breakneck  staircase  lighted  by  a  candle  that  Charliette 
held.  I  found  myself  in  an  old  loft,  where,  albs,  surplices, 
and  linen  garments,  embroidered  or  trimmed  with  lace, 
were  hung  to  dry  on  lines  arranged  for  the  purpose. 

"  '  See,'  said  Charliette,  'this  is  my  work,  and  the  way 
I  earn  my  living.  The  abb^s  who  officiate  in  the  nuns' 
chapel  say  that  nowhere  else  do  they  find  vestments  so 
white,  well-starched,  and  smelling  so  sweet ;  but  this  does 
not  interest  you.  Wait !  you  are  here  in  the  interior,  or 
nearly  so,  of  the  convent,  for  the  door  that  you  see  above 
those  four  steps  communicates  directly  with  the  bell- 
turret  of  the  chimes  that  announce  the  services.  My 
husband,  who  is  piously  inclined,  has  been  engaged  to 
keep  these  bells  in  order,  and  repair  them,  when  neces- 
sary.    He  has  a  key  to  this  door,  which  he  would  not 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  §9 

trust  to  me  during  the  night  for  anything  in  the  world  ; 
but  the  dear  man  must  sleep,  and,  when  I  want  the  key, 
I  shall  have  it.  And,  when  Marie  desires  to,  she  shall 
pass  through  this  door  to  make  her  escape !  Do  you  un- 
derstand me  now  ? ' 

"  I  understood  only  too  well ;  and  the  thought  of  such 
a  fine  adventure  almost  drove  Ine  crazy.  My  amusements 
in  the  town  seemed  altogether  tame  beside  it,  and  I  did 
not  go  out  that  night.  I  talked  all  the  evening  with 
Charliette,  who  came  back  to  renew  the  conversation 
after  her  husband  had  gone  to  bed.  This  devil  of  a 
woman  wrought  me  up  to  such  a  state  of  excitement — I 
do  not  wish  to  conceal  anything  from  you,  uncle — that, 
if  the  thing  had  been  possibK  at  that  moment,  I  would 
have  carried  Marie  off  at  once,  regardless  of  the  future. 

'*  But  Mademoiselle  de  Nives's  consent  had  to  be  ob- 
tained, and  as  yet  she  knew  nothing  of  the  matter. 
Charliette's  plan  had  been  improvised  on  seeing  me.  I 
had  therefore  several  days  during  which  to  reflect  upon 
the  undertaking,  and  a  crowd  of  objections  rose  in  my 
mind.  That  young  lady  who  did  not  know  me,  whose 
sole  idea  of  m/  person  rested  upon  the  memory  of  those 
absurd  letters  that  she  perhaps  still  attributed  to  me — 
that  girl  of  noble  birth,  so  rich,  and  probably  so  proud, 
would  most  certainl/  reject  Charliette's  suggestions. 
You  may  imagine  my  surprise  when  the  next  evening 
Charliette  said  to  me:  *  Everything  works  well;  she 
did  not  say  "  ISTo  ;"  she  wants  to  see  you  first ;  she  well 
knows  that  you  are  considered  the  handsomest  man  in 
)ur  part  of  the  country — but  she  has  never  seen  you. 
Gro  on  Sunday  morning  to  mass  at  the  convent ;  she  will 
36  behind  the  curtain,  so  situated  that  she  can  look  at 
^ou ;  only  appear  very  collected,  and  do  not  raise  your 
jyes  from  your  prayer-book.     I  will  lend  you  one  ;  be- 


90  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

s!fles,  I  shall  be  near  you  to  see  how  you  behave.  You 
must  be  prudent." 

"  I  was  very  prudent,  no  one  seemed  to  notice  me, 
and  Marie  had  a  good  opportunity  to  gratify  her  curi- 
osity. In  the  evening  Charliette  showed  me  a  letter 
from  her  that  I  know  almost  by  heart.  It  said:  '  My 
good  friend,  I  have  seen  him ;  I  do  not  know  whether  he 
is  witty  or  handsome — I  am  no  judge  of  that — but  he 
looks  kind,  and  I  know  from  his  sister  that  he  has  an  ex- 
cellent character.  As  to  marrying  him,  that  requires 
time  for  reflection.  Tell  him  to  come  back  in  a  year  ; 
if  he  is  still  decided,  perhaps  I  shall  then  be  the  same ; 
but  I  will  make  no  promise,  and  I  wish  him  to  know  this.' 

"I  could  have  wished  for  a  shorter  probation — but  I 
must  abridge  the  story  so  as  not  to  bore  you.  Charliette 
could  not  obtain  a  more  favorable  answer,  and  I  re- 
turned home  very  much  absorbed  in  my  romance.  At 
the  end  of  the  year  of  trial — that  is,  last  year — I  returned 
secretly  to  Clermont,  and  quietly  took  possession  of  my 
room  in  Charliette's  house.  I  said  nothing  to  my 
sister,  in  compliance  with  Marie's  formal  commands; 
moreover  I  was  sure  that  Miette  would  not  plead  my 
cause.  I  learned,  however,  through  her,  that  she  was 
the  confidante  of  Marie's  desire  to  escape  from  the  con- 
vent, and  that  she  had  entreated  her  to  be  patient  until 
she  became  of  age,  offering  her  an  asylum  in  her  house 
80  soon  as  she  was  legally  free.  This  did  not  favor  my 
suit,  for  Marie,  no  longer  needing  my  assistance  when 
she  became  of  age,  would  not  have  the  least  reason  for 
choosing  me  in  preference  to  any  one  else. 

"  However,  my  submission  to  the  trial  imposed,  and 
my  fidelity  in  returning  at  the  appointed  hour  to  receive 
her  orders,  pleaded  for  rae.  This  time  I  had  an  inter- 
view with  her  in  Charliette's  loft.     I   was  dazzled   with 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  91 

her  beauty ;  she  was  dressed  as  a  novice,  in  white  from 
head  to  foot,  and  as  pale  as  her  veil :  but  such  eyes, 
mouth,  and  hands  !  I  lost  all  control  of  myself  in  my 
passionate  admiration,  and,  in  spite  of  Charliette's  pres- 
ence, who  did  not  leave  her,  I  found  words  to  declare 
my  love. 

" '  It  is  as  I  feared,'  she  said ;  '  you  expect  an  ans- 
wer, and  if  I  do  not  say  "  Yes  "  immediately,  you  will 
hate  me.' 

"  *  No,'  I  replied  ;  *  I  shall  suffer  much,  but  I  will  still 
submit  a  little.' 

" '  Only  a  little  ?  Very  well !  listen  ;  I  believe  in  you 
now,  and  rely  on  your  assistance  in  escaping  from  this 
convent,  where  I  am  slowly  dying,  as  you  plainly  see ; 
but  I  have  no  desire  to  be  married  at  present,  and  I  will 
only  accept  a  man  ^\o  loves  me  with  the  most  absolute 
disinterestedness.  If  you  are  that  man,  you  must  prove 
it,  by  giving  me  your  aid  unconditionally.' 

This  decision  did  not  alarm  me  ;  it  is  strange  if  a 
man  cannot  make  himself  loved  if  he  wishes  it,  when  he 
is  as  good  looking  as  another.  I  promised  all  that  she 
demanded  She  told  me  that  she  wished,  as  soon  as  she 
escaped  from  the  convent,  to  take  refuge  with  Miette, 
and  to  see  me  there  secretly  until  she  became  better  ac- 
quainted with  me  ;  but  she  knew  Miette  would  oppose 
every  plan  for  a  marriage  between  us,  and  she  must  not 
be  allowed  to  have  any  suspicion  of  the  contemplated 
arrangement.  Marie  was  also  sure  of  her  willingness  to 
receive  her.  '  I  no  longer  fix  any  date,'  she  added,  '  for 
I  have  already  received  proofs  of  your  honor  and  devo- 
tion. When  circumstances  permit  me  to  regain  my 
liberty,  I  will  send  you  this  little  ring  that  you  see  on 
my  finger.  It  will  say  :  "  I  am  waiting  for  you ;  take 
me  to  your  sister." 


9*2  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

"  Ever  since  this  interview,  1  have  been  more  in  love 
with  Marie  than  ever,  and  I  assure  you,  uncle,  that  no 
.other  woman  has  occupied  my  thoughts.  My  second 
probation  was  much  longer  than  I  anticipated,  almost  as 
long  as  the  first.  I  learnt,  from  Charliette,  who  came 
and  passcid  one  day  at  Riom,  that  Miette  insisted  in  her 
letters  that  Marie  should  wait  until  she  was  twenty-one 
years  old.  It  was  through  Charliette  that  the  two  friend 
corresponded. 

"I  was  almost  discouraged  as  the  epoch  drew  near, 
and  thought,  unless  I  carried  her  o:ff,  I  should  never  be 
anything  to  her  but  a  friend.  However,  one  fine  morn- 
ing, about  two  months  since,  I  received  the  gold  ring, 
slender  as  a  hair,  carefully  folded  in  a  letter  !  I  set  out, 
I  ran,  I  flew,  I  arrived  at  the  place  appointed — " 

"  And  you  carried  her  away  ?^  Then  the  story  is 
finished !  " 

"  No,  uncle,  it  only  commences." 

"  I  understand  very  well ;  but  there  are  confidences  I 
do  not  wish  to  receive,  or  some  vain  boasting  that  I  will 
not  listen  to." 

"  Neither  th6  one  nor  the  other,  uncle ;  I  will  tell 
you  the  truth  ;  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  is  still,  as  before, 
entitled  to  every  one's  respect." 

"  That  does  not  lioncern  me." 

"Which  means  that  you  doubt  it!  Well,  will  you 
believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  behaved,  not  like  the 
buffoon  to  whom  you  often  do  me  the  honor  to  compare 
me,  but  like  the  clown  who  draws  the  chestnuts  out  of 
the  fire  for — " 

"For  whom?" 

"For  the  harlequin." 

"  Who  is  the  harlequin  V 

''  Can  you  not  guess?"  ^ 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT,  93 

"  No,  unless  yon   are  jealous   of   Henri  because  he 
danced  with  the  pretty  peasant  girl  this  evening." 

"Yes,  I  am  very  jealous,  for  there  is  something  else/ 

"  Then  go  on ;  I  will  listen  to  you." 

"I   arrived     at    Clermont    incognito.      I    alighted,\ 
threaded   my  way  carefully,  and  slipped  stealthily  into 
Charliette's  house  at  night;  I  then  gave  expression    to 
my  joy  and  gratitude. 

"^Listen  to  me,' she  said;  'fine  words  are  only 
words.  I  am  engaged  in  a  matter  that  may  have  serious 
results,  and,  if  my  husband  does  not  kill  me  jvhen  he 
finds  out  wha-t  I  have  done,  he  will  at  least  beat  me. 
You  are  going  to  run  away  with  a  girl  who  is  a  minor^ 
Her  stepmother  will  make  a  public  scandal  of  the  affair ; 
there  will,  perhaps,  be  a  lawsuit,  in  which  I  shall  be  im- 
plicated— at  all  events,  driven,  from  the  convent  where  \  } 
have  a  good  place,  that  is,  the  means  of  earning  my  liv- 
ing !  I  know  very  well  that  Mademoiselle  Marie,  who 
is  rich,  will  reward  me  generously  for  all  that  I  do  for 
her ;  but  there  is  my  husband,  who  knows  nothing  and 
will  countenance  nothing.  This  will  not  prevent  him 
from  losing  his  employment  at  the  convent  and  being 
obliged  to  leave  the  neighborhood  on  account  of  the 
Btir  that  will  be  made.  Will  you  not  make  some  sacri- 
fice on  your  side  for  my  poor  husband,  who  may  not 
find  another  situation  for  a  long  time  ?  I  am  a  poor 
ignorant  ^oman,  and  do  not  know  anything  about  busi- 
ness ;  I  do  not  even  know  if  Mademoiselle  Marie  will  be 
able  to  do  me  all  the  good  she  wishes  to  ;  this  is  why  I 
have  put  you  in  communication  with  her,  you  who  are 
80  rich  and  generous  !  However,  ideas  change  some- 
times ;  and  should  you  forget  or  disown  my  services, 
you  have  bound   yourself  by  no  engagement,  you  have 


94  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

"  I  spare  you  the  details,  uncle.  You  must  have  ore- 
seen,  while  listening  to  me,  what  then  happened.  I  was 
simple  enough  never  to  have  thought  of  it.  I  had  indeed 
said  to  myself  that  there  is  no  absolutely  Platonic  disin- 
terestedness  in  this  world,  and  that  on  the  day  when  1 
married  Mademoiselle  de  ISTives  we  should  have  a  gener- 
ous nuptial  gift  to  bestow  on  the  good  nurse.  This  was 
very  simple,  and  as  it  ought  to  be ;  but  I  had  never  ex- 
pected that  this  woman  would  lay  down  her  conditions 
before  hand  and  try  to  get  me  to  sign  a  bill  for  twenty-five 
thousand  francs.  I  hesitated  for  a  long  time;  on  the  one 
hand,  I  was  unwilling  to  purchase  my  wife  from  such  a  go- 
between ;  on  the  other,  I  was  equally  unwilling  to  bargain 
for  the  honor  and  the  pleasure  of  carrying  off  my  intended 
bride.  I  thought  I  could  get  out  of  the  difficulty  by 
promising  to  pay  a  round  sum  in  Paris  when  I  arrived 
there  with  Mademoiselle  de  Nives.  But  that  would  not 
do;  Char] iette  would  not  give  her  aid  in  the  elopement 
unless  she  had  the  written  promise  in  her  pocket.  I  took 
my  pen  and  began  to  write  out  a  conditional  one.  Char- 
liette  however  demanded  a  promise  without  any  condi- 
tions. She  maintained — and  she  was  right  to  a  certain 
point — that  an  engagement  drawn  up  in  this  way  com- 
promised her,  her  husband,  and  myself,  '  I  ought,'  she 
said,  '  to  rely  upon  her  sense  of  honor  to  tear  up  the  note 
if  the  marriage  did  not  take  place ; '  but  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  risk  losing  twenty-five  thousand  francs  without 
any  compensation,  and  we  separated  at  midnight  without 
coming  to  any  conclusion,  Charliette  promising  that  the 
elopement  should  take  place  the  next  night  if  I  yielded 
to  her  demands. 

*'  I  was  so  agitated  and  perplexed  that  I  could  not 
think  of  going  to  bed.  My  window  looked  out  upon  a 
bed  of  cabbages  surrounded  with  a  sliirbt  fence,  on  the 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCE  MONT.  95 

one  side  of  which  was  the  garden  belonging  to  the  little 
house  rented  by  my  hosts,  and  on  the  other  was  the  end 
of  the  convent  kitchen-garden.  It  was  so  low  that  I 
could  almost  step  over  it.  I  had  looked  about  enough  to 
know  the  locality  by  heart.  On  the  side  towards  the 
street,  our  little  yard  had  a  door  always  locked,  and  a 
very  high  wall  covered  at  the  top  with  fragments  of 
broken  bottles;  but  this  door  belonged  to  Charliette's 
tenement,  so  her  husband  did  not  keep  the  key  with  the 
same  care  as  that  of  the  loft.  It  often  remained  in  the 
lock  on  the  inside.  There  was,  perhaps,  therefore,  a 
means  of  escape  in  this  direction  as  w^ell  as  by  the  loft 
and  the  door  of  the  house  ;  but  Mademoiselle  de  Nives 
would  have  to  be  informed  of  it,  and  be  able  to  make  her 
way  into  the  convent  kitchen-garden.  I  was  altogether 
ignorant  as  to  whether  the  thing  were  possible.  ' 

"  At  all  hazards,  I  determined  to  investigate  the  door 
of  the  loft.  Perhaps  I  could  discover  some  means  of 
opening  it  ?  I  tried  to  go  out,  but  I  found  that  Clarliette 
had  locked  tiie  door  of  my  room,  and  that  I  could  not 
break  the  lock  without  making  a  great  noise.  I  had  with 
me  my  large  country-knife  supplied  with  instruments  for 
all  purposes,  and  I  walked  from  the  door  to  the  window 
without  any  hope  of  finding  a  means  of  escape,  when  1 
fancied  I  saw  a  grayish  figure  glide  along  the  fence,  move 
away,  and  return  with  every  appearance  of  uneasiness. 
It  could  only  be  Mademoiselle  de  Nives.  I  did  not  hesi- 
tate. I  made  signs  with  my  lighted  cigar  that  appeared 
to  be  perceived  and  understood,  for  the  mysterious  figure 
did  not  go  away.  Then  with  dexterity  and  promptness 
I  took  the  sheets  off  the  bed  and  tied  them  end  to  end. 
I  fastened  them  as  well  as  I  could  to  my  window,  which 
was  about  twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  and  slid  down. 
When  this  extemporized  rope  came  to  an  end,  I  let  go 


ye  THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

entirely,  and  fell  among  the  cabbages  without  receiving 
the  least  injury.  I  ran  to  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  for  it 
was  indeed  she  !  With  one  kick  I  broke  down  the  fence, 
took  her  by  the  hand  without  saying  a  word,  and  led  her 
without  making  any  noise  to  the  door  opening  upon  the 
street.  The  key  was  not  in  the  lock,  and  my  knife  was 
not  of  an  edge  to  struggle  with  this  ancient  and  monu- 
mental work.  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  astonished  at  this 
plan  of  escape,  entirely  different  from  what  she  had  an- 
ticipated, asked  me  in  a  whisper  where  Charliette  was. 

"  '  I  am  going  for  her,'  I  said  ;  'remain  in  the  shade, 
and  do  not  stir  ! ' 

"  I  went  into  the  locksmith's  workshop  to  find  some 
kind  of  a  tool ;  but,  as  I  groped  about  in  the  darkness,  a 
sudden  inspiration  recalled  to  my  mind  an  insignificant 
'circumstance  of  my  first  installation  in  Charliette's  home. 
At  that  time  I  asked  her  for  the  key  of  the  yard  door,  so 
that  when  I  went  out  of  an  evening  I  could  return  late 
without  disturbing  any  one.  She  said,  as  she  gave  it  to 
me  :  "  When  you  come  back,  you  must  hang  it  on  a  large 
nail  above  my  husband's  work-bench,  lest  he  should  sus- 
pect anything  unusual.  He  is  very  religious  and  would 
be  scandalized.'  I  searched  immediately  for  the  nail 
where,  two  years  before,  I  had  replaced  the  key.  It  was 
there  still  and  a  key  was  on  it ;  I  seized  it,  praying  to 
Heaven  that  it  might  be  the  same. 

"  Fortune  was  on  my  side — it  was  the  same !  It  turned 
noiselessly  in  the  lock  :  and,  seeing  myself  master  of  the 
field  of  battle  in  spite  of  my  gaolers,  I  could  not  help  say- 
ing, with  a  smiling  countenance  :  '  All  is  right !  My 
host,  the  locksmith,  keeps  everything  in  his  department 
in  good  order.' 

"-  *  Can   you  laugh   at  such   a  moment  ?  '  said  Made- 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT,  97 

moiselle  de  Nives,  full  of  amusement.  ^  You  have  a 
remarkable  degree  of  coolness !  ' 

"  '  No  but,  I  am  gay — beside  myself  with  joy,'  I  re- 
plied, shutting  the  door  carefully ;  '  I  know  however, 
what  I  am  about.' 

"  '  You  do  not  know  !  you  have  forgotten  Charliette, 
who  is  to  accompany  us.' 

"  She  is  waiting  for  us  at  the  station,'  I  said.  Let  us 
run  there ! ' 

"  I  hurry  her  along  through  the  dark  and  deserted 
streets,  and  we  soon  reach  the  railway-station.  A  train 
has  just  arrived,  and  stops  only  five  minutes.  Marie 
lowers  her  veil,  I  buy  the  tickets,  and  hurry  with  her 
into  an  empty  carriage,  '  What  does  this  mean  ?  '  she 
cries,  as  she  finds  the  train  starting.  *  I  am  here  alone 
with  you !  ' 

"  '  Yes,  you  are  alone  with  me  for  the  journey.  Char- 
liette's  courage  failed  her  at  the  last  moment,  but  I  had 
enough  for  two.  Can  you  trust  me  ?  Do  you  look  upon 
me  as  a  man  of  honor  ?  " 

"  '  You  are-  a  hero,  Jacques !  I  believe  in  you,  and 
will  do  as  you  wish.  If  Charliette  is  a  coward,  I  am  not ; 
but  I  have  no  money,  no  luggage — ' 

"  '  I  have  in  my  pocket  all  you  will  need.  With  money 
one  finds  everything  in  Paris.  You  said  you  wished  me 
to  obey  your  commands  unconditionally,  and  I  promise 
obedience.  Your  esteem  is  the  only  recompense  I  ask  ; 
but  I  want  it  without  reserve ;  your  confidence  will  be 
the  proof  that  I  have  obtained  it.' 

"'You  have  it  entirely,  Jacques.  I  give  it  to  you  in 
the  presence  of  God,  who  sees  and  hears  us ! ' 

"  I  found  myself  put  upon  mylionor,  but  mademoiselle 
de  Nives  helped  me  to  control  myself  by  her  absolute  igno- 
rance of  my  agitation.      She  is  a  sinsjular  girl,  as   bold 


98  THE  TOWER  OF  FENCE  MONT. 

and  courageous  as  a  lion,  innocent  as  a  little  child.  She 
has  not  a  particle  of  coquetry,  and  yet  there  is  an  irresi- 
stible seduction  in  her  frankness  and  simplicity.  She  has 
read,  in  her  father's  old  chateau,  romances  of  the  age  of 
chivalry ;  I  really  believe  she  has  never  read  anything  else, 
and  has  always  thought  that  every  gentleman  was  easily 
and  naturally  a  perfect  cavalier  of  the  olden  times.  She 
thinks  that  goodness  is  as  easy  to  others  as  it  is  to  herself. 
I  learned  to  know  her  even  to  the  bottom  of  her  heart  in 
the  two  hours'  conversation  we  had  together,  and  the 
more  passionately  I  loved  her,  the  more  impossible  it  be- 
came for  me  to  tell  her  so.  I  could  do  nothing  but  make 
protestation  of  my  devotion  and  submission  ;  I  saw  plain- 
ly that  not  a  word  musU  I  utter  concerning  love  and  mar- 
riage. 

"  As  soon  as  the  train  had  gone  far  enough  to  make  it 
impossible  for  her  to  leave  me,  I  determined  to  tell  her 
the  truth,  and  described  my  interview  with  Charliette. 
'  When  I  saw,'  added  I,  '  that  this  woman  tried  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  me,  I  lost  all  confidence  in  her.  I  feared  also 
that,  not  being  able  to  extort  money  from  you,  she  would 
sell  your  secret  to  the  Countess  de  Nives.  I  refused  her 
aid,  and  relied  only  on  myself  to  deliver  you.  It  is  true 
that  chance  served  me  admirably,  for  I  do  not  yet  know 
why  you  happened  to  be  behind  that  fence 

"  I  will  tell  you,'  she  replied.  •  Every  arrangement 
was  made  for  my  escape  this  very  night.  I  was  already 
supplied  with  the  workwoman's  dress  I  am  now  wearing. 
I  promised  to  be  at  the  door  of  the  loft  at  midAight,  as 
my  cell  is  close  by  this  was  easily  accomplished.  At 
midnight  I  was  there  according  to  promise ;  but  I  scratch- 
ed in  vain  upon  the  door — I  even  knocked  cautiously;  it 
was  not  opened,  and  there  was  no  response.  I  remained 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  almost  beside  myself  with  uneasi- 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  91 

ness  and  impatience.  I  then  thought  that  Charliette's  hus 
band  had  found  out  our  secret,  and  had  shut  her  up 
Even  in  that  case  you  ought  to  be  there,  and  would  have 
spoken  to  me  through  the  keyhole;  if  necessary,  yoi; 
would  have  broken  down  the  door.  Some  serious  accideni 
must  have  happened  to  you.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  trag. 
ic  and  frightful  things  I  imagined.  I  could  no  longer 
endure  this  anguish,  and  resolved  to  enter  Charliette's: 
house  through  the  garden  to  find  out  what  was  going  or 
among  you.  I  climbed  on  to  the  top  of  the  wall  sepa- 
rating our  flower-garden  from  the  kitchen-garden,  for  I  am 
light  and  adroit,  1  then  jumped  down  upon  a  heap  of  straw 
I  saw  on  the  other  side.  While  running  to  the  fence,  I 
saw  the  light  of  your  cigar  shining  in  the  darkness,  and 
watched  the  luminous  whiffs  you  drew  forth,  until  I  com- 
prehended that  you  recognized  me.  What  terror  I  felt  in 
seeing  you  descend  from  the  window  so  courageously ! 
After  all,  you  are  here,  and  my  nurse  abandons 
me  !  What  you  tell  me  of  her  avarice  grieves  me  without 
astonishing  me  very  much.  She  has  never  asked  me  for 
money ;  she  knew  I  had  none  ;  but  she  knew  also  that  some 
day  I  should  come  into  possession  of  my  fortune,  and  gave 
me  often  to  understand  that  sfie  had  a  right  to  my  grati- 
tude. I  am  not  disposed  to  forget  her,  and  I  will  not  bar- 
gain with  her ;  but  from  this  day  I  no  longer  accept  her 
services,  and  will  send  her  away  if  she  manages  to  rejoin 
us. 

'* '  She  must  not  do  so, '  I  said.  '  Trust  me  to  render 
pursuit  unavailing.  However,  if  by  a  miracle  she  finds 
us,  keep  on  the  right  side  of  her,  and  pretend  to  be  igno- 
rant of  all  I  have  told  you ;  otherwise  she  will  hasten  tD 
denounce  you.  ' 

"  Having  arrived  at  Paris  without  molestation,  we  took 
refuge   in    the    lodgings   of  Jules    Deperches,    the   best 


100  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

friend   I  have  there,  and  who  I  had  asked  long  before- 
hand to  be  ready  at  any  time  to  render  me  a  great  service. 
Like  a  gentleman,  he  at  once  gave  up  his  apartment  to 
us  without  asking  a   single  question,  or  even  seeing  the 
veiled  face  of  my  companion.     I  hastened  to  hire  a  room 
for  myself  at  the  nearest  hotel,   and  left  Marie  to  rest 
herself.     The  next  morning  I  lost  no   time  in  procuring 
linen,  dresses,  bonnets,  boots,  and  a  cloak,  for  my  poor 
Marie,  destitute  of  everything.     I  did  not  spare  money  ; 
I  bought  her  a  charming  costume,  as  well  as  a  more  simple 
one  which  she  asked  for,  not  wishing  to  attract  attention. 
"  I  cannot   describe   the   happiness   the  child  felt  in 
receiving  these  gifts  and  in  beholding  her  beautiful  dress 
and  rich  linen — she,  who   for  years  had  worn  only  the 
thick  woollen  garb  of  the  young  nun.     I  was  delighted 
with  the  appreciation  she  manifested,   and  ran   to  buy 
her  gloves,  a  parasol,  a  watch,  ribbons,   and  everything 
else  I  could  think  of  !     She  discovered  that  I  had  good 
taste,  and  promised  to  consult  me   always  in  regard  to 
her  dress.    She  was  absolutely  on  confidential  terms  with 
me,  and  called  me  her  brother,  her   dear  Jacques,  her 
friend.     The   sweetest  words  issued  from  her  lips ;  her 
eyes  caressed   me ;  she  thought  me  handsome,  amiable, 
brave,  witty,   charming;   she   loved   me   at  last,   and  I 
ventured  to  kneel  before  her,  and  entreat  the   happiness 
of  kissing  her  hand.     How  do  you  think  she  received  my 
advances  ?  She  held  out  her  hand  to  me,  and  I  was  fool- 
ish enough  to  try  to  kiss  as  high  as    the  elbow.     She 
drew  it  back  abruptly,  angry  at   first ;  then  her  feelings 
found  expression  in  a  nervous  burst  of  laughter. 

" '  What  kind  of  manners  are  these,  my  dear  Jacques  ? ' 
she  said.  '  I  do  not  understand  them ;  but  I  feel  that  I 
do  not  like  them.  You  forget  who  I  am  ;  but,  indeed, 
you  do  not  know,  and  I   see  that  it  is  time  to  tell  you. 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  101 

I  am  not  what  you  suppose — a  girl  eager  for  freedom, 
and  in  a  hurry  to  find  a  husband.  I  have  not  yet  made 
up  my  mind  to  marry.  I  am  religious — a  devotee,  if 
you  will — and  a  life  of  c  jlibacy  has  always  been  my  ideal. 
I  have  not  been  unhap^)y  in  the  convent  from  the  fault 
of  those  around  me.  It  is  the  necessity  for  conformity 
to  rule  that  was  my  enemy  and  my  executioner.  I  require 
movement,  air,  and  noise.  My  father  was  a  horseman 
and  a  huntsman  ;  I  take  after  liim,  resemble  him,  have 
his  tastes  ;  confinement  kills  me,  and  I  have  a  horro>  of 
convents  because  they  are  the  prisons  where  I  have  been 
forced  to  pass  my  life ;  but  I  love  the  nuns  when  they 
are  good,  because  they  are  pure  women,  and  their  renun- 
ciation of  the  delights  of  domestic  life  seems  to  mo  an  act 
of  courage  and  heroism.  Therefore  I  deceived  no  one 
when  I  said,  as  I  often  did,  that  I  was  not  opposed  to 
convent-life.  My  stepmother  relied  upon  this  declara- 
tion ;  and,  when  I  refused  to  make  an  unconditional  en- 
gagement before  I  became  of  age,  she  greatly  feared  lest 
I  might  dispose  of  my  fortune  to  some  community.  She 
was  even  angry  with  the  Abbess  of  Clermont,  who  did 
not  wish  me  to  be  pressed  too  strongly.  I  had  an  idea 
in  my  head  that  I  would  not  confide  to  any  one,  and  I 
still  dream  of  being  able  to  realize  it.  I  intend  to  re- 
cover my  property,  and  I  shall  then  found  perhaps  an 
order  of  Sisters  of  Mercy,  which  I  shall  establish  at  .Nives, 
to  take  care^of  the  poor  and  the  sick,  and  to  bring  up 
children.  We  shall  not  be  cloistered,  and  we  shall  tra.  el 
about  the  country  continually  to  help  the  needy  and  to 
do  good  works.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  shall  be  perfectly 
happy  in  carrying  out  this  plan.  I  shall  be  equally 
devoted  to  a  holy  life,  with  charity  for  my  only  law  of 
action,  without  being  shut  up  alive  in  a  tomb,  and  run- 
ning the  risk  of  letting   my  heart  die  with   my  reason. 


102  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

You  see,  then,  very  plainly,  my  good  Jacques,  that  you 
must  not  kneel  before  me,  nor  be  always  kissing  my 
hand,  as  if  I  were  a  great  lady,  for  I  never  shall  be  one." 

"  Such  is  Mademoiselle  de  Nives's  plan,  and,  if  you  see 
her,  you  wnll  learn  that  she  will  not  yet  decide  to  modify 
it.  You  will  say  that  it  ought  to  have  been  in  my  power 
to  make  her  change  her  resolution.  You  may  well  be- 
lieve that  I  did  my  utmost ;  but  how  can  you  persuade  a 
woman,  when  you  have  nothing  but  words  to  use  in  a  con- 
test ?  Pai-don  me,  uncle,  speech  is  a  fine  thing  when  one 
possesses  your  power  of  using  it.  It  was  usless  for  me  to 
study  law  ;  I  shall  always  talk  like  a  villager,  and  I  know 
nothing  of  the  subtile  arguments  that  hold,  even  against 
their  will,  such  sway  over  those  who  listen.  A  woman  is  a 
being  naturally  captious,  who  cannot  be  taken  hold  of  by 
t lie  ears,  and  who  submits  only  to  a  certain  magnetism 
when  she  does  not  keep  herself  too  far  away  from  the 
fluid  ;  but  what  can  be  done  with  a  woman  who  will  not 
:illow  the  least  familiarity,  and  who  possesses  such  a  spirit 
of  strife  and  revolt  that  no  one  but  a  brute  or  a  savage 
can  tame  her? 

"  I  was  obliged  to  submit  absolutely,  and  become  an 
Amadis  des  Gaules,  to  be  allowed  to  remain  at  her  side. 
The  worst  of  the  affair  is,  that  in  this  game  I  have  grown 
as  amorous  as  a  schoolboy,  and  the  fear  of  displeasing  her 
has  made  me  a  drudge  and  a  slave. 

"  Besides  all  that  I  have  mentioned,  she  is  full  of  con- 
trasts and  inconsistencies.  She  had  been  brought  up  in 
mysticism,  while  the  cultivation  of  her  reasoning  power 
has  been  systematically  neglected.  All  her  thoughts  be- 
ing turned  heavenwards,  she  plays  with  the  realities  of  the 
world  as  with  charming  nothings  which  she  will  leave  be. 
hind,  so  soon  as  religious  exaltation  carries  her  elsewhere- 
She  is  passionately  fond  of  danqing,  dress,  pleasure.  When 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  lOS 

we  were  in  Paris,  on  the  very  first  evening,  she  wanted  to 
go  to  the  theatre,  and  afterwards  return  there  every  night 
to  see  the  scenery,  ballets,  operas  and  fairy-scenes,  but  she 
did  not  care  a  particle  for  literary  performances  or  trage- 
dies, and  could  not  endure  the  slightest  indelicacy.  She 
did  not  understand  these  things  at  all,  and  yawned  while 
looking  on  ;  but  the  enchanted  palaces,  the  grottoes  of  the 
sirens  and  the  Bengal  lights  were  hapj3iness  to  her — al- 
most delirium.  I  hii'ed  a  very  dark  box,  and  closeted  my- 
self with  a  pearl  of  beauty,  admirably  set ;  and  the 
box-keepers,  who  alone  saw  her  charming  face  free  from 
her  thick  veils,  smiled  at  my  happiness,  while  I  played 
the  part  of  a  great  pendant  condemned  to  explain  the 
strings  and  machinery  to  a  child  seven  years  old  ! — You 
are  laughing  at  me,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  laughing  ;  I  find  it  a  well-merited  punish- 
ment for  such  a  gay  Don  Juan,  who  takes  it  upon  himself 
to  elope  with  a  novice  without  having  the  least  suspicion 
of  the  kind  of  bird  he  has  taken  charge  of.  But  to  come 
to  the  point,  did  she  seek  legal  advice  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Indeed  she  did  !  Among  her  oddities,  she  possesses 
a  surprising  knowledge  of  business,  and  a  facile  memory 
of  the  law-terms  connected  with  it.  She  consulted  M. 
Allou,  and  now  knows  her  situation  on  her  finger's  end." 

"  Very  well ;  but  did  she  tell  him  that,  in  allowing  her- 
self to  be  carried  off  by  a  great  paladin,  well  known  in 
his  neighborhood  for  his  numerous  conquests,  she  gave 
arms  against  herself  to  a  stepmother  who  is  still  her 
guardian,  and  who  can  reclaim  her  and  reinstate  her  by 
force  in  the  convent,  if  it  were  only  for  a  week,  with  all 
the  flourish  of  trumpets  of  a  great  scandal  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  believe  she  told  all  this  to  her  lawyer,  but 
I  think  she  told  it  to  her  confessor,  for  she  had  a  religious 
consultation  with  a  very  able  and  influential  abbe,  who, 


104  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

learning  that  she  had  more  than  a  million  to  devote  to  the 
service  of  her  faith,  found  her  above  all  suspicion,  and 
sheltered  from  all  danger.  Only  he  advised  her  to  separ- 
ate from  me  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  to  keep  concealed 
until  the  day  she  came  of  age.  He  did  not,  however  for- 
bid her  from  regarding  me  as  a  brother  and  a  friend  ;  for 
Marie,  who  was  unacquainted  with  my  past  follies,  prob- 
ably represented  me  to  him  as  a  little  lamb  without  spot, 
capable  of  giving  her  assistance  in  her  holy  enterprise. 
In  short,  all  these  proceedings  being  ended,  we  once  more 
took  the  train,  and,  after  a  week  passed  tete-a-tete  in  Paris 
with  your  humble  servant,  she  arrived  at  Vignolette  on  a 
beautiful  summer  night,  as  pure  and  tranquil  as  when  she 
came  out  of  the  convent." 

"  Was  it  you,  then,  who  accompanied  her  to  your 
sister's  house  ?  I  thought  she  arrived  there  with  her 
nurse," 

"  Ah !  I  forgot  to  tell  you.  As  we  were  leaving  the 
railway-carriage  to  dine  at  Montlueon,  whom  should  we 
meet  but  Charliette  ?  She  was  on  her  way  to  Paris  in 
search  of  us,  and  little  thought  of  finding  us  so  soon. 
Marie,  guided  by  my  advice,  received  her  kindly.  "  You 
were  afraid  at  the  last  minute  ?  '  slie  said.  '  This  is  all 
for  the  best,  since  you  are  not  involved  in  the  affair,  and 
will  be  more  useful  than  if  you  had  followed  me  to  Paris. 
You  can  take  me  to  Mademoiselle  Ormonde's,  and  re- 
main at  Riom  to  gain  information  of  my  stepmother's  pro- 
ceedings." 

"  Charliette  went  with  her  to  Vignolette,  and  then  re- 
joined her  husband  at  Riom,  where  I  have  since  met  her. 
We  two  had  a  lively  explanation.  She  naturally  is  in  a 
rage  with  me,  since  I  succeeded  in  frustrating  her  plans. 
At  first  she  thought  I  had  acquired  the  rights  of  marriage 
over  Mademoiselle  de  Mves,     When  she  found  out  her 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  105 

mistake,  she  came  to  the  fore  again  and  renewed  the  offer 
of  her  services  on  the  same  terms,  pretending  that,  ac- 
cording to  her  anticipations,  her  husband,  driven  from 
the  convent,  had  lost  his  situation  and  was  encountering 
many  obstacles  in  recovering  the  one  he  had  formerly  oc- 
cupied at  Riom.  She  threatened,  in  covert  words,  to 
reveal  everything  to  the  stepmother.  I  was  obliged  to 
come  down  with  the  money,  especially  as  I  believe  the 
honest  and  pious  husband  is  in  perfect  accord  with  his  wife 
to  take  advantage  of  the  situation  without  appearing  to 
know  anything  about  it.  However,  I  made  a  better  bargain 
than  the  bill  for  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  and  resolved, 
as  soon  as  Marie  came  of  age,  to  send  the  nurse  about  her 
business. 

"  Unfortunately,  and  against  my  sister's  wishes,  who 
dislikes  and  distrusts  her,  she  has  seen  Marie  very  often 
during  her  stay  at  Vignolette.  She  has  kept  her  secret 
faithfwlly,  but  has  used  every  effort  she  could  to  prejudice 
her  against  me ;  and  I  am  certain  that  she  has  suggested 
another  husband  to  her,  but  I  cannot  tell  whom  she  has 
chosen  to  supplant  me,  or  upon  whom  she  rests  her  new 
hope  of  a  fortune.  I  know  only  one  thing  ;  this  evening 
Henri  accosted  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  like  a  person  with 
whom  she  had  made  an  appointment;  they  talked  in  a 
low  tone,  but  with  much  excitement,  during  the  pauses 
in  the  dance,  ^and  afterwards  disappeared  together.  I 
thought  I  had  planned  so  wisely  in  putting  out  the  light ; 
it  was  indeed  a  brilliant  idea !  they  took  advantage  of 
it  to  run  away  ! " 

"  Where  do  you  think  they  have  gone?  If  it  is  to 
Vignolette,  I 'am  certain  that  Henri  will  not  allow  him- 
self to  cross  the  threshold." 

"  I  do  not  think  they  have  gone  there,  for  that  very 
reason.      Perhaps  Marie  has  taken  it  into  her  head  to 


106  THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

return  to  the  convent  and  remain  there   during  the  last 
days  of  her  minority.'' 

"  In  that  case,  Henri  would  have  given  her  better 
advice  than  you  did," 

"  And  his  position  in  regard  to  her  would  be  better 
than  mine,"  replied  Jacques,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Hush  !  "  I  said.  ''  Some  one  is  calling  us — it  is 
Henri's  voice." 

He  soon  joined  us.  "  I  was  uneasy  about  you,  father," 
he  said.  '*  All  our  relatives  have  gone,  regretting  not 
being  able  to  wish  you  good-by.  My  mother  is  still 
waiting  for  you  at  Rosier's." 

"And  where  have  you  been,"  I  replied,  "during  the 
two  hours  that  I  have  been  looking  for  you?  " 

"  You  were  looking  for  me  ?  Not  in  this  mysterious 
wood,  where  you  have  been  with  Jacques  for  an  hour  at 
least  ?  " 

"  But  where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 
,  "  From  home.  I  returned  a  little  fatigued  and  bored 
with  this  ball  in  the  midst  of  the  dust ;  but  not  seeing 
you  return,  I  thought  you  might  perhaps  want  me,  and 
came  back  to  the  fete^  which  is  now  over,  and  my  mother 
is  getting  very  impatient." 

We  left  Jacques  slightly  reassured,  and  went  to  de- 
liver Madame  Chantebel,  who,  accusing  me  of  being  de- 
layed by  a  client,  stormed  for  the  hundred-thousandth 
time  against  pleaders  and  barristers  in  general. 

Did  Henri  wish  to  confide  anything,  or  make  a  con- 
fession of  any  kind  to  me?  In  order  to  give  him  the 
opportunity,  as  soon  as  we  returned,  I  went  with  him  to 
his  room  to  smoke  a  cigar  before  going  to  bed.  "You 
know,"  I  said,  while  talking  of  the  events  of  the  day, 
"  that  Miette  came  to  bring  her  bouquet  to  me  ?  " 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  107 

"  I  know  it,"  he  replied,  "  and  regret  not  having 
seen  her." 

**  Who  told  you  that  she  came  ?  " 
**  A  servant ;  I  cannot  remember  who  it  was." 
"  She  was  at  the/e^e  this  evening.  You  did  not  come 
near  us,  though  We  saw   you  from  Hosier's  garden   dan- 
cing with  a  very  pretty  village-girl." 

"Yes,  I  danced  one  ^o^^rree,  thinking  it  would  amuse 
me  as  it  used  to." 

''  And  that  wearied  you  ?  "  \ 

"  If  I  had  known  that  Miette  was  there — " 
''You  would  have  invited  her,  I  suppose?" 
"  Certainly.     Did  she  see  me  when  I  was  dancing  ?  " 
"I  don't  know;  I  was  looking  at  your  partner.     Do 
you  know  that  she  is  a  remarkable  person  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  a  peasant ;  very  white,  with  small  hands." 
"  Who  is  she  ?  and  where  does  she  come  from  ?  " 
"I  did  not  think  to  ask  her." 

In  making  this  Teply  Henri  threw  his  cigar  into  the 
fireplace,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Is  it  not  about  time  to  go 
to  bed?" 

I  left  him  without  urging  him  any  more.  Either  he 
was  sincere,  and  ought  not  to  suspect  what  was  passing 
in  my  mind,  or  he  was  determined  to  be  silent,  and  I  had 
no  right  to  question  him.  My  son  was  not  as  easily  pene- 
trated as  his  cousin  Jacques.  He  possessed  a  stronger 
will  and  greater  breadth  of  character. 

The  next  day  and  the  day  after,  in  order  to  see  him 
even  for  a  little  while,  I  was  obliged  to  climb  up  to  the 
tower,  where  he  had  installed  himself  with  two  workmen 
and  a  servant.  He  was  so  delighted  with  this  romantic 
spot,  that  he  was  fitting  up  a  room  for  a  refuge,  should 
stormy  weather  surprise  him  in  his  walks. 

"  You  ai-e  in  a  great  hurry y"  I  said,  finding  liim  en- 


108  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

grossed  with  painting  and  hanging.  "  I  agreed  to  have 
one  or  two  rooms  furnished  to  suit  your  own  taste,  and 
you  have  carried  out  my  economical  ideas  too  rigidly." 

"Not  at  all,  father,"  he  replied  ;  "I  know  very  well 
that  I  am  a  spoiled  child,  and  that  you  would  deny  me 
nothing  for  my  pleasure ;  but,  on  examifiing  the  building, 
I  discovered  that  it  would  be  in  better  taste  to  leave  the 
rooms  in  their  old-fashioned  rusticity  than  to  make  addi- 
tions aijd  improvements.  Here  are  the  two  rooms  that 
old  Coras  occupied.*  I  have  put  this  great  sofa  of  Cor- 
dova leather  in  the  bedroom  in  place  of  the  broken-down 
bedstead.  The  hangings  were  only  soiled  by  the  dust 
that  had  settled  upon  them,  and  I  have  brought  a  carpet 
to  conceal  the  broken  tiles.  The  windows  close  all  right. 
This  ceiling,  with  its  joists  blackened  by  smoke,  has  an 
excellent  tone.  In  short,  a  great  deal  of  sweeping  was 
required,  and  a  few  repairs  in  the  painting  that  will  be 
dry  this  evening.  To-morrow  I  can  t>ring  some  books 
and  a  good,  solid,  old  table,  and  I  shall  be  installed  like 
a  prince." 

The  next  day  he  easily  finished  his  furnishing  with 
some  of  our  old  lumber,  and  passed  the  afternoon  in  ar- 
ranging his  books  in  the  cupboards. 

I  was  intending  to  go  to  Vignolette  to  find  out  if  my 
niece  was  in  a  more  tranquil  frame  of  mind,  when  I  re- 
ceived the  following  note  from  her  : 

*'  Do  not  be  troubled  about  me,  my  dear  good  uncle ; 
we  have  had  no  disputes  at  home.  I  found  my  com- 
panion there  on  my  arrival :  she  had  returned  with  her 
nurse,  and  did  not  say  a  word  of  her  thoughtless  freak. 
I  thought  it  right  to  ignore  it  utterly,  and  not  to  oppose 
her  evening  walks  with  this  woman,  who  now  comes 
every  day,  and  appears  to  have  acquired  much  more  in- 
fluence over  her  than  I  have.    I  do  not  wish  to  be  mixed 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  109 

up  too  much  with  their  little  secrets ;  my  duty  is  limited 
to  hospitality.  Fortunately,  time  moves  apace,  and  will 
soon  release  me  from  a  responsibility  always  painful  when 
unaccompanied  by  authority." 

This  missive  did  not  make  me  feel  any  more  at  ease, 
and  I  began  to  watch  Henri  stealthily  with  scrupulous 
attention.  I  noticed  on  this  same  evening,  that,  like  the 
evening  before,  he  rose  from  table  as  soon  as  coffee  was 
served,  and  went  away  with  Ninie  on  his  shoulders  to 
"  play  horse "  in  the  garden.  There  were  shouts  and 
bursts  of  laughter,  then  the  noise  grew  faint  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  child  returned 
jwith  her  nurse.  Henri  did  not  reappear  until  an  hour 
later,  saying  that  he  had  smoked  his  cigar  outside,  that 
shis  mother  might  not  be  annoyed. 

On  the  third  day  of  these  proceedings  I  resolved  to 
disburden  my  mind.  Circumstances  favored  my  inten- 
tion ;  Madame  Chaniebel  had  two  old  friends  for  guests, 
jwho  plunged  into  cards  with  her  as  soon  as  dinner  was 
pver.  She  did  not  concern  herself  about  the  little  girl, 
who  seemed  to  adore  Henri,  and  on  whom  Henri  ap- 
peared to  dote. 

The  days  were  rapidly  growing  shorter.  I  waited  for 
he  twilight,  increased  by  the  thick  foliage  of  the  trees, 
io  steal  into  the  garden,  and  thence  into  a  neighboring 
neadow,  where  a  double  foot-path  ascended  in  one  direc- 
ion  to  the  tower  and  in  the  other  descended  to  the  vil- 
age.  I  heard  the  child's  voice  coming  from  a  clump  of 
villows  shading  a  spring  on  the  border  of  the  meadow, 
ust  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  that  bears  the  tower.  I 
umed  my  steps  in  that  direction,  keeping  close  to  the 
mshes,  and  soon  saw  Henri  come  out  from  amongst  the 
villows,  bearing  Ninie  in  his  arms.  He  took  the  shortest 
lourse — that  is,  instead  of   going,  as  I  did,  along  the 


110  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

hedge,  he  followed  the  path  leading  to  the  garden.! 
Evidently  he  was  carrying  the  child  to  the  house  to  give 
her  back  to  her  nurse,  and  he  was  going  to  return.  I 
was  on  the  watch,  and  saw  two  women  come  from  under 
the  willow-trees,  take  the  path  to  the  tower,  and  disap- 
pear in  the  foliage  of  the  vines  covering  the  hillock.  I 
still  waited,  perfectly  quiet,  in  the  thicket,  but  I  did  not 
see  my  son  return  as  I  anticipated.  Upon  reflection  I 
said  to  myself,  if  he  returned  to  the  tower  he  would  take 
a  still  more  direct  road — he  would  cross  the  nursery  and 
climb  the  rock  perpendicularly. 

I  heard  the  village  clock  strike.  It  was  only  eight 
o'clock.  Henri  would  not  re-appear  in  the  drawing-room 
till  nine.  He  had,  then,  already  returned  to  the  tower. 
I  could  go  there  through  the  vines,  since  the  two  women 
had  got  the  start  of  me.  I  did  not  hesitate,  and,  although 
the  ascent  in  this  direction  was  steep,  I  arrived  at  the 
foot  of  the  tower  in  less  than  ten  minutes.  It  was  en- 
tirely dark ;  there  was  ho  moon,  and  the  sky  was  over- 
cast, but  everything  was  silent  and  calm.  I  could  easily 
conceal  myself  even  when  approaching  near  the  entrance, 
and  I  could  only  learn  something  by  listening.  This  did 
not  take  long,  nor  was  it  difficult.  Henri  and  one  of  the 
women  were  standing  three  steps  from  me  ;  the  other 
woman  kept  watch  at  a  little  distance. 

'*  Now,  then,"  said  Henri,  "  have  you  decided?  " 
"  Yes,  positively  decided." 

"  Very  well;  do  not  return  to-morrow — it  is  useless." 
"  Oh,  yes,  again  to-morrow  !     Do  let  me  come." 
"  I  warn  you  that  it  is  very  imprudent." 
"  I  know  nothing  about  prudence  ;  are  you  not  aware 
of  that?" 

"  I  can  see  very  well  that  you  do  not  I  " 

"  I  scorn  all  slander,  and  have  a  higher  aim  than  to 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERC 


^o?:iyM 


watch  that  chimera  which  in  human  language  is  called 
reputation.  I  am  responsible  only  to  God  ;  and,  if  I  da 
right  in  his  eyes,  I  may  laugh  at  everything  else." 

'*  But  you  wish  to  be  successful,  so  must  not  create 
useless  obstacles.  If  your  secret  is  discovered,  the  object 
of  your  solicitude  will  be  sent  away." 

"  How  will  my  secret  be  discovered  unless  you  betray 
me?" 

"  I  have  sworn  that  I  will  not  betray  you ;  but  the 
child  will  talk." 

"  What  can  she  say  ?  She  saw  a  peasant  girl  who 
embraced  and  caressed  her — that  is  all.  My  friend,  let 
me  come  to-morrow  !  " 

*'  To-morrow  it  will  rain  in  torrents ;  the  sky  is 
covered  with  clouds." 

"  If  it  rains,  do  not  bring  Ninie  ;  I  will  come  just  the 
same  to  hear  how  she  is." 

"  Very  well ;  on  one  condition,  that  it  shall  be  the 
last  time,  and  you  will  allow  me  immediately  after  to 
confide  everything  to  my  father." 

"■  Let  it  be  so !  Adieu  until  to-morrow.  O  my  dear 
friend,  may  God  be  with  you  and  bless  you,  as  I  bless 
you  !     Adieu  !  " 

She  called  her  companion  with  a  light  whistle,  and 
both  took  their  way  through  the  pines.  Henri  followed 
them  to  the  verge  of  the  wood,  as  well  as  I  could  judge 
from  the  light  sound  of  their  footsteps  on  the  paths  and 
the  dead  branches. 


112  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 


,       CHAPTER  XI 

Although  I  found  it  necessary  to  watch  my  son's 
movements,  I  did  not  wish  him  to  have  the  least  sus- 
picion of  it.  I  went  home,  and  when  he  appeared,  I  did 
not  give  him  a  hint  of  my  discovery.  Jacques  arrived 
about  ten  o'clock,  saying  that  he  had  just  returned  from 
a  shooting-party,  and  could  not  pass  the  door  without 
coming  in  to  see  us. 

"  Didn't  you  kill  anything?  "  asked  Madame  Chante- 
bel ;  "  for,  contrary  to  your  usual  habit,  your  hands  are 
empty." 

"  Excuse  me,  aunt,"  he  replied,  "  I  have  left  one  poor 
hare  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Will  you  play  a  game  of  piquet  with  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  I  am  at  his  disposal." 

I  saw  plainly  that  Jacques  had  something  to  tell  me. 
"  Perhaps  we  had  better  take  a  walk  in  the  garden  in- 
stead," I  answered,  taking  his  arm. — "  You  have  a  great 
fire  for  the  season,  ladies,  and  it  is  stifling  here." 

"  Well,  what  is  the  news  ?  "  I  "said  to  my  great  boy 
of  a  nephew,  when  we  were  alone.  "  You  appear  to  be 
entirely  cast  down."  .    ~ 

''  Cast  down  to  the  depths,  cast  down  to  death,  my 
good  uncle  !  It  is  just  as  I  told  you — Henri  treads  upon 
my  heels.  There  is  an  appointment  every  evening  at  the 
tower  of  Percemont." 

«  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  saw,  I  watched,  I  followed.     This  very  evening — " 

"  Did  you  listen  ?  " 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  113 

"  Yes,  but  I  couldn't  hear  anything." 
.  "  Then  you  are  an  unskilful  fellow.     He  who  does 
not  hear  the  bell  knows  nothing  of  its  sound." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives  keeps  appointments  with  Henri  to  tell  over  her 
beads  ?  " 

"  Did  she  pass  her  time  in  this  way  when  she  was 
with  you?" 

'*  She  made  fun  of  me,  and  perhaps  she  is  now  doing 
tffi  same  with  my  cousin  ;  but  in  making  fun  of  every- 
body she  risks  her  honor,  and  that  is  serious."  ' 

'*  Did  you  not  tell  me  that  it  was  impossible  to  subdue 
her  will,  or  take  advantage  of  her  innocence  ?  " 

''  I  said  that  on  my  own  account,  for  I  am  little  skilled 
ii^  the  use  of  words  or  in  the  eloquence  that  produces  con- 
viction.    Plenri  is  a  barrister ;  he  knows  how  to  say — " 

"  Then  he  is  more  dangerous  than  you,  whom  I  be- 
lieved irresistible." 

"  Ah  !  uncle,  you  are  laughing  at  me,  which  means 
that  you  abandon  my  cause." 

"  Have  I  promised  to  help  you  in  your  love-affairs  ?  " 

"  You  listened  to  my  story  with  an  attention  that  I 
took  for  interest." 

*'  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind  upon  the  subject,  and 
am  very  little  interested  in  your  projects  for  securing  a 
fortune.  If  you  only  think  of  marrying  a  million,  that  is 
an  affair  between  you  and  Charliette,  and  I  will  not  be 
mixed  up  with  it." 

"  Uncle,  you  humiliate  me.  In  truth,  you  treat  me 
with  great  injustice.  The  million  is  of  no  value,  if  the 
woman  is  dishonored." 

"  She  is  not — of  this  I  am  sure ;  but  she  will  surely 
be  some  day,  if  she  shows  the  same  want  of  judgment  as 
she  has  already  done." 


114  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

•'You  know,  then — "  "^ 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  tell  me,  and  make 
this  reply  :  If  she  has  relations  with  Henri  they  are  and 
may  remain  pure  ;  but  if  this  young  lady  takes  every  day 
a  new  confidant,  she  will  end  by  finding  some  one  who 
will  compromise  her,  and  the  scandal  will  be  reflected 
upon  your  sister.  Now,  as  it  is  she,  she  alone,  who  in- 
terests me  in  the  whole  affair,  I  shall  to-morrow  take 
proceedings  to  put  an  end  to  a  vexatious  and  ridiculous 
situation." 

"  Take  proceedings?  Ah  !  uncle,  what  are  you  going 
to  do?  Inform  Madame  de  Nives?  Ruin  this  poor 
child? 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  accuse  her?  " 

"  I  do  not  accuse  her  !  I  pity  myself,  that  is  all ;  Iwit 
I  would  sooner  cut  off  both  hands  than  do  her  an  injury. 
If  you  knew  how  grand  and  good  she  is  with  all  her 
faults,  you  would  excuse  her  as  being  simply  a  little  ab- 
surd and  romantic." 

"  However,  if  she  leaves  you  in  the  lurch,  and  if, 
after  having  deluded  you  with  her  mystic  projects,  she 
takes  a  husband,  and  this  husband  is  not  you  ?  " 

*'  Well  !  uncle  ?  " 

''  Will  you  not  seek  to  be  revenged  ?  " 

"  No,  never  !  On  that  day  I  shall  get  drunk  like  a 
Pole,  or  fire  off  my  fowling-piece  with  my  foot,  I  cannot 
tell  which  !  but  to  wrong  her,  to  speak  evil,  to  betray — 
no  !  I  could  not  !  She  is  not  like  any  other  woman  ; 
she  is  an  angel,  a  strange  angel,  an  insane  angel ;  there 
are  some  perhaps  who  are  so ;  but  she  is  also  the  per- 
sonification of  a  kind  heart,  good  intentions,  disinterested- 
ness, and  charity.  What  would  be  wrong  in  another 
person  is  not  so  for  her.  No  !  she  must  not  be  harmed. 
No,  uncle,  forget  everything  I  have  told  you." 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  115 

"  Come,"  I  replied,  taking  Jacques's  hand  in  mine  ; 
"  I  see  that  you  are  still  my  sister's  child,  the  good  kind 
Jacquet  who  never  injures  any  one  but  himself,  and  re- 
deems everything  with  his  heart.  I  think  now  that  you 
really  love  Mademoiselle  de  Nives.  Therefore  you  ought 
to  marry  her ;  I  promise  to  do  everything  in  my  power 
to  make  you  happy  if  she  is  as  good  as  you  say.  I  will 
see  her,  question  her,  and  study  the  matter  thoroughly." 

"  Thanks  my  dear  uncle  !  but  your  son — »" 

"  My  son  has  nothing  to  say  concerning  it." 

"Indeed—." 

'*  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  him  before  I   understand  the 
.state  of  affairs.     Go  to  bed,  and  give  up  being  a  spy.     I 
will  watch,  but  I  wish  to  watch   alone.     You  understand 
me  !     Keep  quiet,  or  I  will  abandon  your  cause." 

Big  Jacquet  embraced  me,  and  I  felt  his  warm  tears 
on  my  cheeks.  He  went  to  take  leave  of  my  wife, 
grasped  Henri's  hand  convulsively,  and,  mounting  his 
pony,  set  off  at  full  gallop  for  Champgousse. 

I  waited  patiently  through  the  whole  of  the  next 
day.  As  Henri  had  foreseen,  it  rained  incessantly,  and  it 
was  impossible  for  Mademoiselle  N"inie  to  go  out.  After 
dinner  she  climbed  upon  his  shoulders  and  whispered  to 
him. 

"  You  two  have  secrets  between  yourselves  ?  "  said 
my  wife,  struck  with  the  sly  and  mysterious  appearance 
of  the  child. 

"  Oh,  yes,  great  secrets,  which  I  will  not  tell,"  replied 
Ninie,  putting  her  little  l^ands  over  Henri's  mouth — 
"  Don't  tell  them  anything,  my  dear  Henri,  and  please 
carry  me  to  the  fountain."  * 

"  No,  it  is  impossible,"  said  Henri.  "  There  is  no 
fountain  this  evening.  The  rain  would  swamp  our  paper- 
boats  ;  we  must  wait  for  another  day." 


116  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

He  got  up  and  went  out.  Ninie  began  to  cry.  My 
wife  wished  to  console  her.  I  did  not  give  her  an  op- 
portunity, for,  taking  the  child  in  my  arms,  I  carried  her 
to  my  study  to  show  her  some  pictures.  When  she  had 
forgotten  her  disappointment,  I  endeavored,  without 
questioning  her,  to  find  out  if  she  were  capable  of  keep- 
ing a  secret ;  I  promised  to  make  beautiful  paper-boats 
for  her  the  next  day,  and  to  make  them  sail  on  the  pond 
in  the  garden. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said ;  "  your  pond  is  not  pretty  enough. 
I  mean  the  fountain  in  the  meadow !  there  the  water  is 
beautiful  and  clear.  And  there,  too,  is  Suzette,  who 
knows  how  to  amuse  me  better  than  you,  better  than 
Henri,  and  all  the  world." 

"  Suzette,  then,  is  a  little  girl  of  your  own  age,  whom 
you  have  met  there? " 

"Of  my  age?  I  don't  know;  she  is  much  bigger 
than  1  am." 

«BigasB6belle?" 

"  Oh,  no,  and  not  so  old  !  Suzette  is  very  pretty,  and 
loves  me  so  much  ?  " 

"  And  why  does  she  love  you  so  much  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know ;  perhaps  it  is  because  I  love 
her  in  the  same  way,  and  kiss  her  as  much  as  she  wants 
me  to.     She  says  that  I  am  pretty  and  very  good." 

"  And  where  does  Suzette  live  ?  " 

"  She  lives — dear  me !  I  suppose  she  lives  at  the 
fountain  ;  she  is  there  every  evening." 

"  But  there  are  no  houses  there." 

"  That  is  true.  Then  she  comes  to  see  me  so  as  to 
make  boats  for  me. " 

"  This,  then,  was  your  great  secret  with  Henri  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  Bdbelle  wouldn't  let  me  go  out." 

I  saw  that  the  child  had  not  been  entrusted  with  the 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  117 

secret,  and  would  easily  forget  the  pretended  Suzette  if 
she  did  not  see  her  again  before  her  mother's  return.  I 
saw,  also,  why  Henri  had  been  in  such  a  hurry  to  put 
the  old  rooms  in  order  at  Percemont,  for,  regardless  of 
the  rain,  he  went  there  as  he  had  promised,  and  did  not 
return  until  ten  o'clock.  As  soon  as  his  mother  had  re- 
tired to  rest,  he  said  to  me : 

"  I  deceived  you  the  other  day,  my  dear  father.  Al- 
low me  to  relate  to  you  this  evening  the  true  story  ;  but,  to 
commence  quickly  and  clearly,  read  this  letter  that  I  re- 
ceived by  post  on  the  evening  before  St.  Hyacinthe's 
day." 

"  Sir, — Render  a  great  service  to  a  person  who  has 
faith  in  your  honor.  Be  to-morrow  evening  at  the  fete 
of  Percemont.  I  will  be  there,  and  will  whisper  in  your 
ear  the  name  of  Suzette.^' 

"  You  see  the  orthography  is  a  little  fanciful.  I  im- 
agined some  frivolous  adventure  or  a  demand  for  assist- 
ance. I  followed  you  to  the  fete^  and  saw  Jacques, 
dancing  with  a  fascinating  village-girl,  with  whom  he 
appeared  to  be  very  much  enamoured,  and  who,  passing 
near  me,  threw  adroitly  into  my  ear  the  word  agreed 
upon — '  Suzette.'  I  invited  her  to  dance  with  me,  to 
Jacques's  great  displeasure,  and  we  came  rapidly  to  an 
explanation  during  the  hourree. 

" '  I  am  not  Suzette,'  she  said,  '  but  Marie  de  Nives. 
I  am  living  in  strict  concealment  at  Vignolette.  Emilie, 
my  excellent,  my  best  friend,  does  not  know  that  I  am 
here,  and  her  brother  Jacques  is  displeased  with  me  for 
coming.  I  have  not  told  them  my  secret,  for  they  would 
say,  I  was  doing  a  foolish  thing  ;  however,  I  wish  to  do 
it,  and  I  will  do  it,  unless  you  refuse  your  assistance  and 
friendship.  I  demand  them,  and  I  have  a  right  to  ex- 
])eot  them.     You  did  me  a  great  wrong  without  suspect- 


118  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

ing  it.  When  I  was  at  the  convent  of  Riom,  you  wrote 
me  letters  that  were  looked  upon  as  criminal.  On  ac- 
count of  these  unfortunate  letters,  I  was  taken  from  this 
convent,  where  I  was  loved  and  treated  kindly,  and  shut 
up  at  Clermont  under  more  severe  regulations.  Jacques 
helpe<2  me  to  escape.  I  went  to  Paris  to  obtain  legal 
advice.  I  now  understand  my  rights,  and  shall  soon 
enforce  them  ;  but  while  I  condemn  my  stepmother, 
there  is  in  my  heart  one  tender  and  ardent  desire  !  I 
want  to  see  her  daughter,  my  poor  father's  daughter,  my 
little  sister  Leonie.  She  is  at  your  house ;  manage  in 
some  way  to  let  me  see  her.  The  present  time  is  favor- 
able, and  another  such  opportunity  may  perhaps  never 
occur.  Your  whole  family  is  here ;  the  child  is  alone 
with  her  nurse  in  your  house.  I  have  skilful  spies  at 
my  command,  who  keep  me  informed  of  all  that  goes  o^. 
Take  me  to  your  house,  let  me  only  see  my  sister.  I 
will  just  look  at  her  while  she  is  sleeping,  and  I  will  not 
weaken  her.  Grant  me  the  privilege  of  seeing  her,  and  I 
shall  owe  you  eternal  gratitude.' 

"  The  time  and  tlie  place  were  not  suitable  for  discus- 
sion. I  cannot  tell  what  answer  I  should  have  made  it 
it  had  not  been  for  an  awkward  incident  provoked  by 
Jacques's  jealousy.  He  put  out  the  lantern,  and,  in  the 
confusion  that  followed,  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  seizing 
my  arm  with  extraordinary  nervous  force,  hurried  me 
along  into  the  darkness  saying  :  '  N'ow  God  wills  it,  you 
see;  let  us  go  to  your  house.' 

"  I  was  literally  blind.  That  light,  that  was  bright 
enough  to  put  one's  eyes  out,  having  been  suddenly  ex- 
tinguished, I  walked  without  knowing  where  my  steps 
tended,  and  my  companion  seemed  to  lead  me.  After  a 
minute  or  two  I  discovered  that  we  were  going  in  the 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  119 

direction  of  the  meadow,  and  that  we  were  not  alone, 
A  man  and  woman  were  walking  in  front  of  us. 

"  '  It  is  my  nurse  and  her  husband,'  said  Mademoiselle 
de  Nives ;  Hhey  are  faithful  servants,  fe-ar  nothing;  I 
have  others  besides  these  in  my  service.  I  have  my 
sister's  nurse,  who  was  discharged,  and  now  watches 
over  my  interests.' 

"  Do  you  know/  I  said,  '  that  you  make  me  somewhat 
uneasy  by  acting  in  this  way  ?  " 

"  '  How  so  ?  " 

"  '  Perhaps  you  have  formed  a  plan  for  carrying  off 
the  child,  in  order  to  have  the  mother  in  your  power.  I 
give  you  warning  that  I  shall  oppose  it  absolutely.  She 
has  been  confided  to  my  parents,  and,  although  this  confi- 
dence is  a  little  strange,  we  are  responsible,  and  consider 
the  trust  sacred.' 

"  You  have  a  very  bad  opinion  of  me,'  she  replied, 
'  and  must  have  heard  many  unkind  reports  concerning 
me.  I  do  not  deserve  them,  and  am  resigned  to  wait  for 
the  future  to  justify  me.' 

"  Her  voice  had  a  penetrating  clearness  and  sweet- 
ness. I  was  ashamed  of  my  suspicions,  and  tried  to  make 
excuses  for  my  rudeness. 

"  *  Do  not  speak,'  she  said  ;  '  it'will  only  delay  us — 
run  ! ' 

And  she  hurried  across  the  meadows  scarcely  touch- 
ing the  soil,  light  as  a  bird  of  night. 

"  We  stopped  a  moment  when  we  arrived  at  the  gai- 
den-gate.  '  I  have  not  yet  thought  of  a  way,'  I  said,  '  of 
taking  you  to  the  child  without  danger  oi"  your  being 
seen  by  the  servant  who  has  charge  of  her.  I  warn  you 
that  Mademoiselle  Ninie  sleeps  in  my  mother's  chamber, 
and  that  during  her  absence  a  nurse,  installed  in  an  easy- 
chair,  sleejjs  perhaps  very  lightly.     I  know  nothing  about 


120  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

her ;  she  is  a  young  peasant  with  whom  I  am  not  ac- 
quainted.' 

"  *  I  am  acquainted  with  her,'  replied  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives  ;  '  she  came  to  Erailie's,  a  fortnight  since,  to  ask 
for  work.  We  gave  her  some,  and  I  know  that  she  is 
gentle  and  good.  Do  not  be  troubled.  I  know,  also, 
that  she  sleeps  soundly,  for  she  did  not  waken  during  a 
frightful  storm.     Come,  quick,  let  us  enter ! ' 

"  '-  Allow  me — you  must  enter  alone  with  me.  The 
persons  who  accompany  you  will  wait  here.' 

"  '  Of  course.' 

"  I  led  her,  without  noise,  to  my  mother's  chamber, 
guiding  her  through  the  dark  passages.  I  entered  first, 
softly.  The  little  nurse  did  not  stir.  A  candle  was  burn- 
ing on  a  table  behind  the  curtain.  Mademoiselle  de  Nives 
took  it  resolutely,  in  order  to  look  at  the  sleeping  child  ; 
then  gave  it  to  me,  and,  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  glued  her 
lips  to  Ninie's  little  hand,  saying,  as  if  she  were  praying 
to'God  : 

"  '■  Grant  that  she  may  love  me — I  swear  to  love  her 
dearly ! ' 

"  I  touched  her  gently  on  the  shoulder.  She  arose 
and  followed  me  submissively  to  the  garden.  There  she 
took  both  my  hands  in  hers,  saying  to  me  :  '  Henri  Chan- 
tebel,  you  have  given  me  the  greatest  happiness  I  ever 
experienced  in  my  hard  and  sad  life ;  you  are  now  for 
me  like  one  of  those  angels  whom  1  often  invoke,  and 
who  inspire  me  with  calmness  and  courage  during  my 
meditations.  I  am  a  poor  girl,  without  mind  and  without 
instruction.  Those  who  had  charge  of  me  brought  me  up 
in  this  way-,  they  did  it  on  purpose,  for  they  thought  the 
more  ignorant  I  was,  the  less  power  I  should  have  to  as- 
sert my  rights.  But  the  light  necessary  to  guide  my  steps 
comes   from    above ;    no  one    can    put    it   out.      Have 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  121 

confidence  in  me,  as  I  had  confidence  in  you.  Confidence 
is  80  noble !  Without  it  everything  is  evil  and  impossible. 
Permit  me  to  see  my  sister  again,  to  hear  her  voice,  to 
read  her  looks,  and  to  receive  her  first  kiss.  Let  me  re- 
turn to-morrow,  disguised  as  to-day.  Remember,  no  one 
knows  my  face  ;^our  parents  have  never  seen  me,  and 
Madame  de  Nives  herself  would  perhaps  not  recognize 
me,  for  she  has  not  seen  me  for  many  years.  I  will  hide 
somewhere,  you  will  bring  Leonie  to  me,  you  will  be 
there,  and  you  will  not  leave  her.  Must  I  e»treat  you  on' 
my  knees  ?     Behold  me — here  I  am  ! ' 

"  A  little  disturbed  by  her  exaltation,  but  conquered 
by  the  charm*  emanating  from  so  remarkable  a  person,  I 
consented  to  a  meeting  at  the  tower  of  Piercemont  the 
next  day  at  dusk,  promising  to  find  some  means  of  taking 
her  sister  to  meet  her,  and  I  asked  permission  to  inform 
you  of  what  was  going  on. 

"  '  Oh  no,  not  yet ! '  she  cried.  '  I  shall  tell  everything 
to  your  father  myself,  for  I  have  much  to  tell,  and  he  will 
be  obliged  to  listen  to  me  ;  it  is  his  duty  to  Madame  de 
Nives  and  my  sister.  I  can  ruin  them,  but  I  do  not  wish 
to.  However  there  is  one  thing  about  which  I  have  not 
yet  entirely  made  up  ray  mind ;  I  must  see  the  child 
again,  and,  if  your  parents  oppose  it,  I  shall  not  know 
what  I  ought  to  do.  Promise  to  keep  my  secret  for  a  few 
days.' 

"  '  Well,  I  promise.  But  Jacques  ! — What  shall  I  say 
to  him  if  he  asks  me  any  questions  ? ' 

'' '  He  will  not  ask  you  any  questions.' 

"  '  Is  he  not  your  betrothed  ? ' 

"  *  No,  he  is  nothing  to  me  but  a  generous  and  excel- 
lent friend.' 

"  'But  he  loves  you.     That  is  very  clear.* 

"'He   loves   me,    vcs,   and    I   return   it  with   all    mv 


122  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

heart,  bat  there  is  not  a  word   of  love-makiug-  between 
us.     You  swear  to  keep  my  secret  ?  ' 

"  *  Yes,  I  swear.' 

"  'Oh  how  I  love  you  ! ' 

"  *  Not  so  much  as  Jacques  ?  ' 

"  '  Still  more  !  ' 

"  After  this  she  went  away  with  her  companion,  leav 
ing  me  astonished  and  rather  staggered  with  the  adven- 
ture. 

"  The  next  day — that  is  the  day  before  yesterday — I 
decided  upon  the  fountain  in  the  meadow  as  the  most 
favorable  jilace  for  the  meeting.  I  found  means  of 
informing  Charliette,  that  devoted  nurse,  who  came  in 
the  daytime  to  explore  the  wood  of  Percemont  so 
as  to  find  her  way  about  without  following  the  beaten 
paths.  She  is  a  skilful  and  sagacious  woman.  I 
showed  her  the  fountain  from  the  hill  above  it,  and  the 
path  through  the  vines  that  leads  to  it.  I  took  down  the 
fences,  and  the  same  evening,  while  playing  with  Ninie* 
carried  her,  without  saying  anything,  to  her^ sister,  who 
was  waiting  for  her  under  the  willows.  The  acquaintance 
was  quickly  made,  thanks  to  the  paper-boats ;  but  I  must 
say  that  Mademoiselle  de  Nives's  passion  for  this  child 
was  like  an  irresistible  magnet.  In  a  short  time  Leonie 
was  hanging  upon  her  neck,  and  devouring  her  with  ca- 
resses. She  was  unwilling  to  leave  her,  and  I  could  only> 
induce  her  to  go  back  to  her  nurse  by  promising  to  bring 
her  the  next  day  to  the  fountain  and  Suzette. 

"Yesterday  again  I  kept  my  word.  Suzette  had 
crammed  her  pockets  with  blue  and  rose-colored  paper. 
She  made,  with  a  nun's  dexterity,  charming  little  boats 
that  floated  delightfully ;  but  Ninie  was  not  so  much 
amused  as  on  the  evening  before.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  never  to  leave   Suzette,  and  insisted   upon  taking 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  123 

her  home  with  her  for  a  nurse.  I  had  great  trouble  in 
separating  them.  Finally,  this  evening  for  the  last  time 
I  saw  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  in  the  tower,  where  we  had 
agreed  to  meet.  I  considered  this  interview  useless  to 
her  plans,  and  agreed  to  it  with  regret,  since  the  bad 
weather  prevented  me  from  taking  Leonie  to  her  sister. 
I  went  to  the  meeting  a  little  out  of  temper.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Nives  is  an  irritating  person.  She  throws  herself 
on  your  neck,  morally  speaking.  She  has  inflections  of 
tenderness  and  exaggerated  expressions  of  gratitude  which 
must  trouble  poor  Jacques  profoundly,  and  have  made  me 
impatient  more  than  once ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  give 
expression  to  the  disapprobation  she  provokes.  She  is 
not  affected,  she  does  not  study  an  attitude,  she  is  natur- 
ally beyond  the  region  of  probability,  and  yet  she  is  in 
the  right  when  her  point  of  view  is  accepted.  We  talked 
for  two  hours,  tete-a-tete^  in  the  town  where  I  had  kindled 
a  great  fire  of  pine-cones  to  dry  her  wet  garments,  and  was 
obliged  to  see  that  she  was  warm  in  spite  of  herself. 
Fearless,  and  like  one  insensible  to  all  external  influences, 
she  had  walked  smiling  under  a  beating  rain,  and  smiled 
anew  in  seeing  me  troubled  on  account  of  her  health. 
She  manifested  no  more  embarrassment  nor  fear  in  find- 
ing herself  alone  with  me,  coming  to  an  interview  dan- 
gerous to  her  reputation,  than  if  I  had  been  her  brother. 
The  nurse  stayed  below  in  the  kitchen,  warming  herself 
also,  and  troubling  herself  no  more  at  leaving  us  together 
than  if  eccentricities  of  this  kind  were  nothing  new  to 
her.  All  this  would  have  turned  the  head  of  an  ambi- 
tious fool,  for  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  is  an  eligible  per- 
son, and  can  be  easily  compromised  ;  but  I  hope  that  you 
have  a  sufficiently  good  opinion  of  me  to  be  very  certain 
that  I  have  not  made  love  to  her,  and  shall  not  do  so. 
'This  is  my  romance,dear  father.    Tell  me  what  you  think 


124  THE  TOWER  OP  PERCEMONT. 

of  it,  and  if  you  blame  me  for  having  allowed  the  adverse 
party — for  my  mother    pretends  that  you    are    the  de- 
fender -and  legal  adviser  of  the  countess — to  embrace 
her  little  sister  Ninie  without  your  knowledge  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 


"  Reduced  to  these  proportions,  the  affair  is  not  seri- 
ous," I  replied  ;  "  but  you  have  not  told  me  the  most  im- 
portant part —  your  conversation  of  this  evening,  your 
only  conversation  ;  for,  until  this  time,  you  could  exchange 
nothing  but  a  few  interrupted  words,  as  you  were  not 
alone  together." 

"  Yes,  indeed !  the  two  preceding  days  I  escorted 
her  half-way  to  Vignolette  through  the  woods  ;  the  nurse 
— I  ought  to  say  the  duenna-— walked  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance." 

"Then  you  know  what  those  great  projects  are  upon 
which  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  your  client,  intends  to  con- 
verse with  me  ?  " 

"An  attempt  at  reconciliation  between  herself  and 
her  stepmother  ;  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  wishes  to  be  at 
liberty  to  see  her  sister  occasionally." 

"  I  believe  that  the  i-nterviews  will  be  dearly  purchased  ; 
and  then  how  to  make  an  engagement  binding?  Marie 
de  Nives  has  no  power  over  L^onie  de  Nives,  and  the 
law  will  give  her  no  support." 

"  She  relies  upon  you  to  find  the  means." 

"  Do  you  see  any  ?  " 

"  I  see  a  thousand  if  your  client  looks  o^ily  for  money, 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  125 

as  mine  pretends  she  does.     We  have  only  to  interest 
her  in  the  duration  of  the  two  sisters'  friendship." 

"  Everything  appears  simple  when  suppositions  are 
taken  for  accomplished  facts.  Suppose  that  my  client — 
since  client  she  is,  according  to  you — has  an  unconquer- 
able aversion  to  her  stepdaughter,  that  she  fights  for  her 
fortune,  but  that  it  is  only  for  her  daughter's  sake,  and 
that  she  would  prefer  her  to  remain  poor  rather  than  to  be 
exposed  to  the  influence  of  a  person  of  whom  she  has  so 
bad  an  opinion  ?  " 

"^You  will  plead  with  her  for  poor  Marie." 
"  Poor  Marie  is  greatly  to  be  pitied  for   the   past ; 
but  seeing  how  she  is  behaving  now  she  is  free,  I  own 
that  1  feel  no  special  interest  in  her." 

"  You  are  not  acquainted  with  her  yet." 
"  I  accept  her  as  you  paint  her,  and  as  Jacques  has  de- 
scribed her.  Your  two  versions,  differently  drawn  up, 
agree  in  essential  points.  I  think  she  is  an  excellent  per- 
son, with  very  pure  intentions.  Is  that  sufficient  to 
make  her  a  judicious  woman,  a  serious  being,  capable  of 
directing  a  child  like  Leonie,  and  of  inspiring  some  con- 
fidence in  her  mother  ?  I  do  not  believe  her  capable  of 
inspiring  respect." 

"  Indeed  !  I  assure  you  she  is  quite  capable  of  that." 
"  You  mean,  you  have  been  very  much  interested  in 
her,  and  have  known  how  to  conceal  it  from  her  through 
respect  for  yourself  !  " 

''•  Do  not  speak  of  me ;  I  am  out  of  the  question. 
Speak  of  Jacques." 

"  Jacques  has  been  still  more  interested  and  probably 
more  timid  than  you.  Jacques  is  a  youth  whose  wild 
deeds  and  depths  of  sentiment  need  not  be  much  dreaded 
by  any  person  ever  so  badly  brought  up.  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  I  think  ?  I  do  not  believe  your  client  in  danger,  but 


126  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

I  think  her  dangerous.  I  see  her  in  a  very  agreeable  and 
even  diverting  situation,  since  she  finds  means  to  recon- 
cile in  her  conscience,  obscurely  enlightened  from  above 
— or  from  below — the  frivolous  pleasures  of  life  with  cel- 
estial ecstasy.  She  cherishes  in  the  convent  the  idea  of 
being  a  wise  virgin,  but  has  the  instincts  of  a  foolish  vir- 
gin, and,  from  the  moment  that  she  throws  off  the  re- 
traint  of  austerity  which,  armed  at  all  points,  forms  the 
strength  of  Catholicism,  I  do  not  see  where  she  will  stop. 
She  has  nothing  to  put  in  the  place  of  this  terrible  yoke 
necessary  to  minds  without  culture,  and  consequently 
without  reflection.  She  has  no  philosophy  to  create  a 
law  for  herself,  and  no  appreciation  of  social  life  and  the 
obligations  it  imposes.  She  forms  a  fantastic  idea  of  duty, 
seeks  her  own  in  the  combinations  of  romance,  and  has 
not  the  least  conception  of  the  most  simple  moral  obliga- 
tions. It  pleases  her  to  leave  the  convent  before  the  time 
— close  at  hand — fixed  by  the  law  for  her  deliverance ; 
she  did  not  know  how  to  find  a  proper  protection  for  this 
rash  act,  and  accepts  that  of  a  woman  who  speculates 
upon  the  liberality  of  the  suitors  she  recruits.  She  finds 
it  natural  to  accept  Jacques  Ormonde  for  a  liberator, 
passes  eight  days  alone  with  him,  and,  as  he  does  not  in- 
spire her  with  love — so  I  understand — cares  very  little 
for  the  passion  aroused  in  his  breast,  the  hopes  he  cher- 
ishes, the  bursts  of  anger  and  suspense  she  imposes  upon 
him." 

"  Father,  she  is  entirely  ignorant  of  these  things,  and 
has  no  idea  of  the  passion  of  love." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  her !  A  woman  should  have 
an  intuitive  perception  of  what  she  does  not  know  by  ex- 
perience ;  otherwise  she  is  not  a  woman,  she  is  a  hybrid, 
mysterious  and  suspicious,  whom  every  one  should  be 
afraid  of.     Who  can  tell  where  the  awakening  of  the 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  127 

senses  will  lead  such  a  person?  I  believe  that  the  senses 
.already  play  the  principal  part  in  that  angelic  chastity 
yours  drives  the  young  lady  from  Jacques's  arms  into 
mine ;  she  has  sought  and  iound  only  protectors." 

"  Say,  rather,  from  the  support  of  Jacques's  arm  to 
that ." 

"  One  improvised  protector  is  a  great  deal.  Two  are 
much  too  many  for  two  months  of  liberty  !  Why  has  not 
this  heroine  of  romance  succeeded  in  overcoming  my  re- 
pugnance to  become  acquainted  with  her  and  listen  to 
her  story  ?  Since  she  knows  how  to  disguise  herself  so 
well,  she  might  have  found  entrance  here  as  a  servant — 
we  were  looking  for  one  to  take  care  of  the  child !  " 

"  She  thought  of  it,  but  was  afraid  of  my  mother's 
penetration,  who  she  knows  is  prejudiced  against  her." 

"  She  was  afraid  of  your  mother,  and  she  was  afraid  of 
me  !  Invited  by  Miette  and  Jacques  to  trust  her  affairs  to 
me,  she  did  not  dare  to  follow  her  ad  vice — she  does  not 
yet  dare.  She  prefers  to  apply  to  you  in  order  to  see  her 
sister,  as  she  applied  to  Jacquet  to  escape  from  her  cage. 
Shall  I  tell  you  why?" 

"Tell  me,  father." 

"Because  the  support  of  young  men  is  always  assured 
to  a  pretty  girl,  while  the  old  exercise  their  judgment  in 
the  question.  Beauty  produces  a  rapid  proselytism.  A 
young  man  is  combustible  material,  and  does  not  resist 
like  an  old,  incombustible  man  of  the  law.  With  a  ten- 
der glance  and  a  suppliant  word,  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye,  she  finds  brilliant  cavaliers  ready  for  every  foolish 
enterprise.  She  trusts  to  them  her  most  intimate  secrets, 
and  they  are  delighted  to  be  received  as  confidants.  Is 
not  this  confidence  the  supreme  favor?  She  lures  them 
on  this  way  and  very  soon  controls  them.  She  accepts 
their  love  provided  tliey  do  not  express  their  feelings  too 


128  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT 

plainly,    exposes    them  without  scruple  to    scandalous 
tongues,  makes  use  of  their  money — " 

<*  Father—! " 

"  Not  you  !  but  Jacques  is  already  in  for  a  large  sum, 
I  can  tell  you.  She  is  rich,  will  pay  her  obligations,  and 
preserve  a  sincere  gratitude  for  the  two  friends — and  end 
by  marrying  a  third  ;  the  others  will  get  out  of  the  affair 
as  they  like.  I  tell  you,  my  son,  you  have  just  passed 
two  hours  tete-Or-tete^  intoxicating  and  painful  at  the  same 
time,  with  an  angel ;  but,  united  with  this  angel,  there  is 
an  ungrateful  devotee  and,  perhaps,  a  consummate 
coquette.  Take  care  of  yourself — that  is  all  I  say  to 
you !  " 

My  son,  while  listening  to  me,  moved  about  uneasily, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  embers,  and  his  face  pale  in  spite 
of  the  red  light  reflected  upon  it  by  the  fire.  It  seemed 
to  me  I  had  touched  the  right  chord. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  rising  and  fixing  upon  me  his  great, 
black  eyes  full  of  expression,  "  you  blame  me  for  having 
helped  to  carry  out  the  plans  of  this  young  lady  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  At  your  age  I  should  have  done  the 
same  thing ;  only,  I  tell  you  to  be  on  your  guard." 

*'Lest  I  fall  in  love?  You  take  me  for  a  school- 
boy." 

"  It  is  not  very  long  since  you  were  one,  and  so  much 
the  better  for  you." 

He  reflected  a  few  moments,  and  replied :  "  That  is 
true  ;  it  is  not  very  long  since  \  was  in  love  with  Miette, 
when  the  thought  of  her  made  my  heart  beat,  and  kept 
me  from  sleeping.  Miette  is  much  more  beautiful  now  ; 
above  all,  she  has  an  expression,  and  I  do  not  see  that 
freshness  and  health -injure  the  ideal  in  a  type  of  woman. 
The  Greek  statues  have  rounded  outlines  in  poetry 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives  is  pretty  like  a  little  boy.     Her 


W    ' 


T//E  TOWER  OF  PERCE  MONT.  129 

paleness  is  a  matter  of  fancy.  And  then  it  is  not  beauty 
that  takes  possession  of  the  heart — it  is  character.  I  have 
studied  this  character — a  character  entirely  new  to  me — 
more  judicially  than  you  think  ;  and,  in  all  that  you  have 
just  said,  I  think  there  is  much  truth,  in  regard  to  ingrati- 
tude, especially.  I  could  not  help  telling  her  that  she 
made  Jacques  suffer  cruelly  ;  she  believed  herself  justified 
in  saying  that  she  had  made  no  promises  to  him." 

"  She  does  something  worse  that  you  did  not  think  of. 
She"  tries  to  injure  Emilie's  character." 

''  I  thought  of  it,  and  told  her  so.  What  do  you  think 
she  said  in  leply  ?  '  Emilie's  character  cannot  be  injured. 
She  possesses  a  purity  beyond  all  s-tain.  If  any  one  said 
that  I  behaved  improperly  while  under  her  roof,  the 
whole  country  would  reply  with  one  single  voice  that  it 
was  agaii^t  your  cousin's  will  or  without  her  knowledge. 
And  you  also,  would  you  not  cry  out  to  the  detractors — 
You  spoke  falsely  !  The  proof  of  her  respectability  is 
that  she  is  my  betrothed,  and  I^  am  going  to  marry 
her?"' 

"  Very  well.     What  did  you  reply  to  this  question  ?  " 

''  I  made  no  reply.  It  was  repulsive  to  me  to  discuss 
Emilie  and  my  secret  sentiment  with  a  person  who  can- 
not comprehend  human  feelings." 

"  I  regi-et  that  you  found  nothing  to  say." 

"  Tell  me,  father,  do  you  think  that  Emilie^-" 

"  Go  on.     Emilie—" 

"  She  must  know  that  her  friend  has  been  absent  every 
evening  for  some  days  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  impossible  that  she  can  be  ignorant 
of  it.  Tlie  house  atV  ignolette  is  large,  but  in  such  a 
secluded  life  the  absence  of  one  of  the  two  inmates  must 
be  noticed." 

''  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  pretends  that  Emilie  asks 


130  THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

no  questions  and  manifests  no  uneasiness.     How  do  you 
explain  this  ?  " 

"  By  the  religion  of  a  generous  hospitality.  See  the 
letter  I  received  from  her  yesterday." 

Henri  read  the  letter  and  returned  it.  "I  see,"  he 
said,  "  that  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart  the  good  and  dear 
child  blames  her  strange  companion.  She  is  right.  Did 
you  notice  that  she  was  unhappy  the  last  time  you  saw 
her?" 

"  Emilie  unhappy  ?    No,  but  displeased." 

"  Displeased  with  Mademoiselle  Marie  ?  " 
•  "Evidently." 

''  And  perhaps  also  with  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  thought  about  you." 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  pretends  that  Miette  has  a 
great  sorrow."  k 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  reply  I  made  ;  there  is  no  reason  for  it. 
Miette  is  not  in  love  with  me." 

"And  you  added,  '  I  am  not  in  love  with  her?  " 

"  No,  father,  I  did  not  say  so  ;  I  avoided  speaking  of 
myself ;  it  could  not  interest  Mademoiselle  de  Nives. 
What  day  will  you  receive  her  ?  "  — 

"Here  she  runs  the  risk  of  meeting  her  stepmother, 
who  may,  who  ought  to  return  for  her  daughter  at  any 
moment." 

"  Madame  de  Nives  cannot  return  yet ;  she  is  ill  in 
Paris. " 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

*'  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  has  her  closely  watched. 
She  caught  influenza  while  running  about  Paris  and  the 
suburbs  to  surprise  her  stepdaughter  in  some  flagrante 
delicto  favorable  to  her  hostile  plans  ;  but  as  she  had  only 
false  information,  she  made  no  discoveries." 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  131 

"  This  young  woman  may  then  come  to  the  tower  to- 
morrow with  Miette.  Your  mother  intends  to  make  some 
calls  at  Riom,  and  will  know  nothing  about  it.  I  wish 
for  your  assistance  at  the  interview,  since  you  are  Ma- 
demoiselle Marie's  adviser.  I  shall,  perhaps,  call  up 
Master  Jacques,  and  give  an  order  for  Leonie  to  be 
brought  to  us  for  a  little  while.  I  want  to  see  with  my 
own  eyes  if  this  grand  passion  for  the  child  is  sincere. 
We  will  go  to  bed  now.  To-morrow,  early  I  will  send 
a  messenger  to  Vignolette,  and  perhaps  also  to  Champ- 
go  usse." 

"  The  next  day  I  wrote  to  Emilie  and  her  brother- 
At  noon  I  went  to  the  tower  with  Henri  and  little  Leonie. 
We  found  Miette  there  with  Mademoiselle  de  Nives. 
Jacques,  who  lived  further  off,  arrived  last. 

My  first  word  was  an  act  of  authority.  Charliette 
was  on  the  threshold  of  the  kitchen,  but,  perceiving  me, 
quickly  took  refuge  within.  I  had  seen  her,  however, 
and,  addressing  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  demanded  to 
know  if  this  woman  was  on  the  watch  by  her  orders. 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives  seemed  surprised,  and  said  she 
did  not  come  with  her. 

"  Then,"  replied  I,  "  she  comes  on  her  own  account, 
and  I  shall  request  her  to  leave." 

I  entered  the  kitchen  without  giving  Marie  time  to  get 
the  start  of  me,  and  asked  Charliette,  who  seemed  quite 
distracted,  what  she  was  doing  in  my  house.  She 
replied  tihat  she  had  come  to  receive  Mademoiselle  Marie's 
orders. 

"Mademoiselle  Marie  does  not  need  you  ;  go  away. 
I  forbid  you  to  ever  put  your  foot  in  my  house  without 
my  permission." 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Charliette,  in  a  dramatic  tone,  "  I  see 


132  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

that  my  dear  young  lady  is  ruined  !  You  are  all  against 
her!" 

"  Go,"  I  resumed  ;  **  and  the  quicker  the  better  !  " 

She  went  away  furious,  and  I  rejoined  the  ladies  in 
the  apartment  refurnished  by  Henrt.  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives  wore  her  village  girl's  costume,  which,  I  must 
confess,  was  marvellously  becoming  to  her.  Ldonie  threw 
herself  into  her  arms,  and  they  were  inseparable.  Emilie 
also  caressed  the  child,  and  found  her  charming.  I 
saw  that  at  the  last  moment  Marie  had  made  a  full  con- 
fession. Henri  appeared  a  little  embarrassed  in  carrying 
out  the  part  Jie  had  assumed.  He  heard  oj^portunely 
the  step  of  Jacques's  pony,  and  went  down  to  help  him 
put  it  in  the  stable. 

During  this  time,  I  kept  moving  about,  and  without 
having  the  appearance  of  wishing  to  enter  upon  the  sub- 
ject at  once,  I  observed  the  features  and  attitude  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  and  found  her  simple  and  sincere. 
This  point  gained,  I  examined  my  niece  ;  she  was  changed, 
neither  pale  nor  cast  down,  but  serious,  and  as  if 
armed  for  any  combat  with  a  high  and  magnanimous 
will 

Jacques  entered,  and  met  with  a  cordial  welcome. 
He  kissed  respectfully  the  hand  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives  extended  to  him  without  the  least  embarrassment. 
He  was  much  disconcerted  by  astonishment  and  uneasi- 
ness, and  appeared  to  be  nerving  himself  up  for  a  crisis 
beyond  his  power  to  avert. 

"  Now,"  I  said  to  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  '•  we  are 
going  to  discuss  matters  that  will  be  very  tiresome  to 
Mademoiselle  Ninie.  She  may  go  and  play  in  the 
meadow,  directly  under  our  eyes." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Leonie ;  "  with  Suzette  1  " 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  133 

"By  and  by,"  I  said.  "  I  promise  to  let  you  see  her 
again  before  she  goes  home." 

"  That  is  not  true  ;  you  will  not  call  me  back  I  " 

"  I  give  you  my  promise,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Nives. 
"  You  must  be  good,  and  obey  M.  Chantebel.  lie  is 
master  here,  and  every  one  is  glad  to  do  as  he  wishes." 

Ninie  submitted,  but  not  without  making  Suzette 
promise  to  sit  near  the  window,  where  she  could  look  at 
her  every  moment. 

When  we  were  seated,  Miette  began  resolutely : 
"  Uncle,"  she  said,  "  you  have  consented  to  receive  my 
friend,  and  I  thank  you  for  her  and  for  myself.  I  think 
you  have  no  need  to  question  her  in  regard  to  the  events 
that  brought  her  under  my  roof,  for  I  believe  you  are 
perfectly  well  acquainted  with  them.  She  comes  to  ask 
your  counsel  upon  her  future  course,  and  as  she  knows 
what  kind  of  a  man  you  are,  has  for  you  the  respect  you 
merit,  and  places  in  you  the  confidence  that  is  your  due  5 
she  is  resolved — so  she  promised  me — to  follow  your 
adyice  implicitly." 

"  I  have  but  one  question  to  address  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Nives,"  I  replied ;  "  and  my  opinion  of  her  cause  will 
depend  upon  her  answer.  Why,  on  the  eve  of  the  time 
fixed  for  her  certain  and  absolute  liberty,  did  she  think  it 
her  duty  to  quit  the  convent? — Reply  without  fear, 
mademoiselle :  I  know  you  have  much  frankness  and 
courage,  and  all  the  persons  present  are  now  in  your  con- 
fidence ;  it  is  important  that  I  should  be  so  also,  and  that 
we  all  deliberate  upon  what  is  most  favorable  to  your  in- 
terests." 

*'  It  is  a  sort  of  public  confession  you  demand,"  replied 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  who  appeared  much  moved  by 
the  presence  of  Henri  and  Jacques  ;  "  but  I  can  make  it, 
and  I  will  make  it." 


134  THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

'^  We  arc  listening  respectfully." 

"  Well,  M.  Chantebel,  I  had  a  reasou  that  you  wSAj 
scarcely  credit  for  escaping  from  the  convent  before  the 
proper  time.  My  ignorance  of  real  life  was  so  profound 
— and  this  is  not  my  fault — that  I  believed  I  must  show 
a  deterraination  to  stand  up  for  my  legal  rights  before  I 
came  of  age.  I  was  persuaded  that,  if  I  allowed  one  day 
to  pass  beyond  that  term,  I  was  bound  by  that  act  to 
remain  in  the  convent  for  life." 

'■*  Were  you  told  this  enormous  falsehood  in  the  con- 
vent ?  " 

"  No ;  my  nurse  Charliette  pretended  to  have  asked 
Legal  advice  in  Clermont,  and  advised  me  to  distrust  the 
patience  with  which  the  nuns  and  confessors  awaited  my 
decision.  '  They  will  not  harass  you,'  she  said ;  '  they 
will  surprise  you,  and  suddenly  say  to  you, — The  hour 
lias  passed,  we  hold  you  for  your  whole  life.'  " 

"  And  you  believed  Charliette  ?  " 

"  I  believed  Charliette,  having  only  her  in  the  whole 
world  to  care  for  me,  and  tell  me  what  I  thought  to  be 
the  truth." 

"  But  since  then  you  have  found  out  she  was  deceiv- 
ing you  ?  " 

"Do  not  make  me  say  anything  against  this  woman 
who  rendered  me  great  service — interested  service,  I 
know — but  I  availed  myself  of  her  aid,  and  am  still  re- 
ceiving it.  Let  her  go  for  what  she  is  worth.  This  mat- 
ter is  unworthy  of  your  attention." 

"  Excuse  me,  1  must  know  if  I  am  in  the  presence  of 
a  person  counselled  and  directed  by  Charliette,  or  by  the 
friends  she  has  now  around  her." 

"  I  am  ashamed  that  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  reply 
that  the  persons  present,  commencing  with  yourself,  are 
everything  to  me,  and  Charliette  nothing." 


THE  TOWER  OF  TEKCEMONT.  185 

"  That  is  very  well  so  far,  but  I  must  insist  upon 
other  conditions  before  I  undertake  to  save  you  from 
.he  dangers  and  difficulties  into  which  this  Charliette 
has  thrown  you.  You  must  swear  that  you  will  not  see 
her  again,  nor  have  any  correspondence  or  any  kind  of 
connection  with  her,  so  long  as  you  remain  with  my 
'liece.  You  ought  to  have  understood  that  the  presence 
of  a  woman  of  that  character  defiled  the  abode  of  Emilie 
Ormonde." 

It  was,  I  believe,  the  first  time  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Mves  ever  heard  the  plain  truth.  Frightened  and 
menaced,  on  one  side,  by  clerical  thraldom  ;  spoiled  and 
twittered,  on  the  other,  by  her  nurse  and  the  blind  love 
oljacques,  she  did  not  think  she  had  anything  to  re- 
j)raach  herself  with.  She  blushed  with  confusion,  which 
ippeared  to  me  a  good  omen,  hesitated  a  moment  for  a 
nply,  then,  by  a  spontaneous  movement,  turned  to 
^aette  and  said,  casting  herself  on  her  knees  and  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  her :  "  Forgive  me,  I  knew  not 
wiat  I  was  doing !     Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"I  should  have  told  you,  if  you  had  trusted  me,"  re- 
pled  Emilie,  embracing  and  raising  her,  "  Until  tliis 
mu-ning  I  did  not  know  how  guilty  and  contemptible 
this  Charliette  is." 

"  I  will  never  see  her  again  !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives. 

"  You  swear  it  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  swear  by  my  eternal  salvation  !  " 

"  Swear  upon  your  honor !  Eternal  salvation  is 
never  compromised  so  long  as  a  moment  for  repentance 
!•»  mains.  It  is  a  beautiful  idea  to  make  God  greater  than 
tie  justice  of  men,  but  here  we  treat  of  facts  purely 
haman,  and  are  solely  occupied  with  matters  that  may 
be  useful  or  injurious  to  our  fellow  creatures." 


136  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCE  MONT. 

"  I  swear,  then,  upon  my  honor,  never  to  see  Char 
liette  again,  although,  in  truth,  human  honor,  as  usually 
understood,  seems  to  me  a  frivolous  thing." 

"  It  is  there  the  shoe  pinches,"  I  replied.  "  Will  you 
permit  me  to  make  a  little  explanation  that  is  veiy 
necessary  ?  " 

"  I  am  listening,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  sittiig 
down  again. 

"Very  well.  When  the  expression  'human  honor' 
has  no  clear  meaning  for  the  mind,  it  is  best  to  withdnw 
from  the  social  sphere  and  communion  with  mankiid. 
One  lives  then  in  a  sublime  companionship  with  the  divine 
Mind,  and  monastic  rule  imposing  solitude  and  silence 
exempts  one  from  all  obligation  to  the  human  race.  ,1 
know  that  you  do  not  wish  to  choose  this  life ;  then,  ts 
maid  or  wife,  consecrated  to  works  of  charity  or  to  the 
occupations  of  this  world,  you  must  have  a  guide  aid 
master  to  teach  you  the  obligations  ofiife.  You  willio 
no  good,  entirely  by  yourself,  outside  of  the  cell,  slice 
you  disdain  to  learn  anything  of  practical  life.  You  vill 
need  a  spiritual  director  to  utilize  your  charity,  or  a  his- 
band  to  regulate  the  propriety  of  your  conduct,  li^ou 
are  nearly  twenty-one  years  old  ;  you  are  fascinatfeg, 
and  conscious  of  your  power,  since  you  make  use  of  jour 
fascinations  to  carry  out  your  plans  from  day  to  d^y. 
From  the  moment  you  begin  to  exert  an  influence  upn 
the  mind  of  others,  you  have  no  longer  the  right  to  s^y, 
'  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do — T  will  see  ! '  You  must 
see,  and  decide  at  once ;  you  must  choose  between  a  hus- 
band and  a  confessor,  otherwise  there  is  no  means  of 
dealing  with  you  in  earnest." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  wio 
started  up,  astounded  at  my  frankness ;  "  what  are  v<^u 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  187 

siyiiig  to  me,  M.  Chantebel?  What  do  you  demand  of 
me?" 

"  Nothing  but  the  free  exercise  of  your  will." 

"  But  precisely  ! — I  do  not  know  my  will.  I  wait 
for  God  to  inspire  me." 

"Has  God  inspired  you  thus  far?  Did  he  command 
you  to  run  away  with  Jacques  Ormonde  ?  " 

"  Uncle,"  cried  Jacques,  "  you  forced  my  secret  from 
me,  you  had  found  it  out  before,  and  I  thought  it  would 
be  sacred  with  you,  and  now  you  are  tortudng  me  ! 
Permit  me  to  retire,  I  am  stifling  here,  suffering  martyr- 
dom?" 

"I  do^  not  blame  you,  Jacques,"  said  Mademoiselle 
de  Nives ;  "  I  intended  to  tell  your  uncle  all  that  he 
knows  ah-eady." 

"  More  especially,"  I  resumed,  '*  since  you  confided 
it  to  my  son,  with  permission  to  re^'^al  everything  to 
me." 

Jacques  became  pale,  looking  at  Henri,  who  remained 
unmoved.  Then  he  looked  at  Marie,  who  cast  down 
her  eyes  in  confusion,  then  raised  them  immediately,  and 
said,  artlessly  :  "  It  is  true,  Jacques,  I  told  everything 
to  your  cousin,  for  I  needed  his  help  to  accomplish  an 
enterprise  in  which  you  would  have  refused  to  aid  me." 

''  You  could  not  know,"  replied  Jacques.  "  My 
cousin  certainly  merits  all  your  confidence,  but  I  had 
given  you  sufficient  proof  of  my  devotion  to  have  a  right 
to  it  also." 

"  You  forget,  Jacques,"  I  said,  "  that  when  Mademoi- 
selle de  Nives  needs  any  one,  as  she  says  herself,  she 
goes  directly  to  the  .point,  without  troubling  herself 
about  other  people.  She  could,  doubtless,  have  taken 
your  arm  to  look  at  L6onie  through  the  park-railing,  or 
have  accosted  Henri  in  your  presence,  and  made  roman^ 


138  E  TOWER  OF  PEKCEMONT 

tic  visitis  to  hi  111  in  this  tower,  tlie  unquestionable  inno- 
cence of  which  you  could  yourself  have  proved  ;  but  all 
this  would  not  have  succeeded  so  well.  Henri  would  have 
distrusted  a  person  presented  by  you,  and  consequently 
compromised.  He  would  have  reasoned  and  discussed,  as  I 
am  nowdiscussing.  It  was  much  preferable  to  surprise  him 
give  him  a  mysterious  rendezvous,  confide  herself  to  him 
like  a  sacred  dove  whose  purity  sanctifies  all  it  touches, 
finally  open  her  heart  to  him  free  from  all  attachment  or 
consideration  towards  you.  Experience  has  proved  that 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives  is  not  so  much  a  stranger  as  one 
might  think  to  the  manner  of  action  in  real  life,  and  that 
if  she  ignores  the  suffering  she  causes,  she  divines  and 
appreciates  the  manner  of  making  use  of  it." 

"  Henri !  "  cried  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  pale  and 
with  clinched  teeth,  "do  you  share  in  the  cruel  opinion 
your  father  has  of  me  ?  " 

Henri's  face  was  for  a  moment  contracted  with  an 
expression  of  anguish  and  pity :  then,  suddenly  gaining 
the  ascendency  with  the  heroism  of  a  good  conscience, 
he  replied  :  "  My  father  is  severe,  Mademoiselle  Marie  ; 
but  on  the  whole  he  says  nothing  that  I  did  not  say  to 
you  here  last  evening,  while  alone  with  you." 

Mademoiselle  de  Nives  then  turned  to  Jacques,  as  if 
to  demand  from  him  aid  and  protection  in  her  distress. 
She  saw  that  he  was  weeping,  and  took  a  step  towards 
him.  Jacques  took  two,  and,  carried  away  by  his  good 
disposition  as  much  as  by  his  want  of  conventional  man- 
ners, he  threw  his  arms  around  her,  and  pressed  her  to 
his  heart,  saying  :  "  Indeed,  all  this  is  not  my  fault !  If 
you  deserve  blame  in  regard  to  me,  I  forget  it  all  the 
moment  you  suffer  !  Will  you  have  my  blood,  will  you 
have  my  honor,  will  you  have  my  life  ?     They  are   all 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCE  MONT.  139 

yours,  and  I  ask  nothing  in  exchange,  as  you  know  very 
Nvell." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  thankp  to  the  force  of 
my  attack,  Jacques,  struck  to  the  heart,  found  real  elo- 
quence. The  expression  of  the  countenance,  accent, 
gesture,  everything  was  sincere,  and  consequently  seri- 
ous and  strong.  It  was  a  revelation  for  us  all,  and  es- 
pecially for  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  who  had  never  be- 
fore understood  him.  She  was  sensible  of  the  injury  she 
had  done  him,  and  read  it  in  her  own  conscience.  She 
started  like  a  person  seized  with  vertigo  on  the  border 
of  a  precipice,  and  threw  herself  back  ;  but  she  instinct- 
vely  drew  near  again  to  the  heart  whose  manly  beat- 
ing against  her  own  she  had  felt  for  the  first  time,  and 
from  that  resting-place  addressed  Emilie. 

"  You  ought  to  make  the  severest  reproaches  to  me," 
she  said,  "  for  1  have  been,  it  is  plain,  ungrateful  to  your 
brother,  and  a  coquette  with  your  cousin !  As  usual, 
you  say  nothing,  and  suffer  without  complaining.  I 
promise  solemnly  to  make  amends  for  everything,  and  to 
be  worthy  of  your  friendship  !  " 

"May  God  hear  you  mademoiselle !"  I  said,  hold- 
ing out  my  hand  to  her.  "  Pardon  me  for  having  made 
you  suffer,  I  think  I  have  unraveled  the  truth  from  the 
labyrinth  i«to  which  Charliette  threw  you.  I  feel  sure 
that  henceforth  you  will  reflect  and  engage  in  no  more 
adventures,  the  consequences  of  which  can  be  turned 
against  you.  Now  we  will  talk  about  business,  and  see 
how  you  can  be  reinstated  in  your  rights  without  mak- 
ing a  scandal  or  commotion.  Let  me  tell  yoii  that  I  ac- 
cepted your  stepmother's  confidence  upon  one  condition, 
that  of  acting  as  a  peacemaker.  I  am  not  interested  in 
her  personally;  but  she  did  a  wise  thing:  she  knows 
that   I   adore  children,  that   in   every  case   where  these 


140  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

poor  innocents  are  concerned  I  plead  for  their  interests, 
and  whether  T  was  willing  or  not  she  trusted  her  daugh- 
ter to  me.  There  is  poor  Ninie,  beautiful  and  good,  and 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  but  moderately  happy.  Her  fate  will 
be  worse  with  a  mother  embittered  by  poverty." 

"  Say  nothing  more,  M.  Chantebel !  " ,  cried  Made- 
moiselle de  Nives.  "  Settle  yourself,  without  consulting 
me,  the  sacrifices  that  I  ought  to  make,  then  give  me  a 
pen,  and  I  will  sign  without  reading.  You  know  the 
amount  of  my  fortune,  and  I  know  nothing  about  it. 
Arrange  everything  to  make  N'inie  as  rich  as  I  am..  It 
was  to  tell  you  this  that  I  wanted  to  see  you !  '* 

The  generous  girl  turned  toward  the  window  while 
speaking  thus,  as  if  to  throw  a  kiss  to  her  sister ;  but, 
not  seeing  her,  she  called  and  received  no  reply.  "  Dear 
me !  "  she  said,  running  to  the  door,  "  where  can  sho  be? 
I  do  not  see  her  anywhere !  " 

At  the  same  instant  the  door  was  thrown  open  impet- 
uously, and  Ninie  rushed  into  Mademoiselle  de  ISTives's 
arras,  crying  out  in  a  voice  broken  by  fear  :  "  Hide  me  ! 
hide  me  !  Mamma  !  she  is  coming !  she  is  running  !  she 
is  on  the  stairs  !  she  will  find  me,  and  whip  me !  Don't 
let  mamma  have  me  !     Hide  me  ?  " 

And  she  rapidly  hid  herself  under  the  table,  the  thick 
covering  of  which  reached  to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 


Shb  was  out  just  in  time,  Madame  de  Nives,  pale 
ind  excited,  entered  in  her  turn,  absolutely  as  if  she  were 
in  her  own  house,  without  knocking  or  being  announced. 
Marie  turned  her  face  to  the  window,  leaving  visible  only 


THE  TOWER  OF  PEKCEMONT  141 

her  black  and  white  fiohu,  her  blonde  hair  coquettishly 
curled,  and  her  straw  hat  turned  up  behind.  Miette. 
without  being  dressed  as  a  peasant,  wore  as  usual  that 
pretty  Auvergnat  hat  which  blends  with  the  new  fash 
ions  in  such  a  manner  as  to  appear  elegant  without  ceas- 
ing to  be  original. 

"  Excuse  me,  M.  Chantebel,"  said  Madame  de  Nives, 
who  at  the  first  glance  took,  or  pretended  to  take,  the 
two  young  ladies  for  peasant-girls :  *'  you  are  here  in 
consultation  ;  I  did  not  know  it.  A  thousand  pardons  . 
I  am  looking  for  my  daughter  ;  I  thought  she .  was  here. 
They  told  me  at  your  house  that  you  had  taken  her  in 
this  direction.  Tell  me  where  she  is,  that  I  may  em- 
brace her.  I  will  wait  in  your  garden  till  you  have 
leisure  to  attend  to  me  in  my  turn." 

While  the  countess  was  talking  I  had  glanced  to  the 
back  part  of  the  tower,  visible  through  a  window  oppo- 
site to  the  one  occupied  by  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  and 
had  seen  Charliette  watching  and  wailing  in  the  ruined 
and  abandoned  part  of  the  manor.  Therefore,  Madame 
de  Nives  appeared  to  me  perfectly  "well  informed  of 
what  was  going  on,  and  I  was  unwilling  to  indulge  her 
in  a  useless  pretense. 

"  You  will  not  disturb  me,  madam e,"  I  said.  "  I  am 
here  w^ith  my  family.  If  there  is  a  consultation,  you  will 
not  be  in  the  way."  And,  advancing  an  easy-chair  for 
her,  I  added,  "  Mademoiselle  Ninie  is  in  this  room  ;  but 
she  is  in  the  midst  of  a  game  of  *  hide-and  seek,'  and  does 
not  see  you — Come,  Ninie,"  I  continued,  raising  the 
table  cover,  "  it  is  your  mamma ;  run  and  kiss  her." 

Ninie  obeyed  with  a  visible  reluctance.  Her  mother 
seized  rather  than  took  her  up,  and  seated  her  on  ■  her 
knee,  saymg,  in  a  harsh  tone;  "What!  are  you  crazy? 
Don't  you  know  me  ?  " 


142  THE   TO  WKR  OF  PERCEMONT. 

While  Ninie  was  embracing  her  mother  with  more 
fear  than  love,  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  anxious  to  know 
if  the  child  was  a  victim  as  she  had  beeti  told,  turned 
round  to  observe  this  kiss.  The  clear,  cold  eyes  of  the 
counteas  were  at  once  fixed  upon  hers,  and  I  saw  her 
tremble  as  at  the  sight  of  a  viper.  Doubtless  she  would 
not  have  recognized' her  stepdaughter  immediately  and 
under  this  disguise  if  she  had  not  been  informed  of  her 
presence.  She  was  evidently  prepared  for  the  interview, 
as  she  did  not  mistake  her  for  an  instant  for  Miette,  and 
a  ferocious  smile  contracted  her  lips. 

"You  pretend,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  loud  and  clear 
voice,  "  that  I  shall  not  be  in  the  way  in  the  consulta- 
tion I  have  interrupted.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  the  ques- 
tion to  be  settled  is  a  marriage  between  two  young 
ladies  and  two  gentlemen.  I  am  acquainted  with  one 
of  the  young  ladies  ;  which  of  the  suitors  is  hers !  " 

"  This  one  !"  replied  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  without 
hesitation,  taking  my  nephew's  hand.  "  This  is  M. 
Jacques  Ormonde.  The  banns  will  be  published  in  a 
fortnight,  and,  although  at  that  time  your  consent  will 
be  unnecessary,  I  hope,  madame,  you  will  deign  to  ap- 
prove my  choice,  for  the  sake  of  propriety." 

"  It  wiU  be  very  necessary,"  replied  the  countess," 
"  since  this  is  the  gentleman  who,  it  appears,  ran  a^^ay 
with  you." 

"  This  gentleman,"  added  Jacques,  to  whom  happiness 
gave  self-possession,  "  would  suggest  to  the  countess  that 
Mademoiselle  Ninie  is  out  of  place  here,  and  would  be 
better  off  amusing  herself  in  the  meadow," 

"  With  Charlictte,  who  is  still  prowling  about  there  ?  " 
I  said,  raising  my  voice ;  "  no,  take  the  child  to  her  nurse, 
^  ho  is  waiting  for  her  among  the  vines,  and  come  baok 


THE    TO  WER  OF  PE. 

here  yourself.     If  your  future  wife  has  to  make  any  con- 
cessions, we  shall  need  your  approval." 

"  She  may  make  as  many  concessions  as  she  pleases," 
replied  Jacques,  taking  Ninie  by  the  hand,  who  followed 
him  with  an  instinctive  confidence ;  *'  she  gave  you  full 
control  of  her  affairs,  and  I  do  the  same,  uncle."  And  he 
led  the  child  away,  followed  by  the  glance  of  the  countess, 
who  thought  much  less  of  her  daughter  than  she  did  of 
examining  the  features  and  appearance  of  Jacques  with 
a  haughty  and  disdainful  curiosity. 

"  There,'  then,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  gone  out, 
"  is  the  object  of  Mademoiselle  de  Nives's  great  passion !  " 

"  That  young  man  is  my  nephew,"  I  replied,  *'  my 
dear  sister's  son,  an  excellent  person,  and  a  very  worthy 
man." 

"■  Or  a  very  gallant  man  ?  M.  Chantebel,  you  are  in- 
dulgent, as  is  well  known,  to  the  members  of  your  family  ! 
I  see  you  find  nothing  worthy  of  condemnation  in  the 
elopement.  It  will  not,  however,  be  approved  by  every 
one.'*' 

"Jt  will  remain  unknown,  for  no  one  here  wiU  divulge 
the  secret,  out  of  regard  for  Mademoiselle  de  N^ives  and 
you." 

"For  me?  indeed!" 

I  made  a  sign  to  the  others  to  draw-^  away,  and,  ap- 
proaching very  near  her,  said,  in  a  whisper  :  "  For  you, 
madame,  who  agreed  with  Charliette  to  bring  about  this 
scandal,  and  dishonor  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  !  " 

She  became  pale,  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint  ;  but, 
making  a  strong  effort,  she  replied,  in  a  low  voice  ; 
*'  This  woman  has  told  a  frightful  lie,  and  you  will  never 
be  able  to  prove  it !  " 

«  Shall  I  call  her  ?     She  is* still  there." 

"Why  call  hor !  "  she  roplied,  with  a  wild  look* 


144  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

"  You  can  summon  her  ]>efore  us  all  to  tell  the  truth. 
The  recompense  you  promised  her  will  be  at  this  price ; 
and,  if  necessary,  we  can  raise  a  subscription  amongst 
ourselves  that  will  unloose  her  tongue.  She  will  produce 
your  letters." 

The  countess  feebly  murmured  these  words  :,"  You 
must  not  do  that !     I  am  in  your  hands — spare  me  I  '' 

Then  she  sank  back  in  her  chair  in  a  real  fainting-fit. 
I  had  guessed  right,  for  I  learned  the  details  afterwards. 
Charliette  had,  of  course,  fleeced,  taken  advantage  of,  de- 
ceived, and  betrayed  every  one  in  turn. 

My  niece  and  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  came  eagerly  to 
Madame  de  Nives's  assistance.  She  recovered  her  senses 
very  quickly,  and  wanted  to  renew  the  conversation.  I 
begged  her  not  to  fatigue  herself  uselessly.  "  We  can," 
I  said,  "  renew  the  conference  later  this  evening  or  to- 
morrow." 

**  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  at  once,  especially  as  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  I  have  simply  to  wait  for  the  proposi- 
tions that  it  will  be  thought  necessary  to  make  to  me  on 
the  eve  of  a  general  settlement  of  our  interests." 

"  There  are  no  propositions  to  be  made,"  I  replied. 
"  You  thought  that  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  having  been 
led  to  commit  acts  of  grave  imprudence,  would  need 
silence  and  a  generous  pardon  on  your  part.  Things  are 
changed  now,  as  you  have  just  seen.  Silence  is  for  the 
common  interest,  and  pardon  is  only  a  matter  of  polite- 
ness— say,  rather,  of  Christian  charity.  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives  is  absolute  mistress  of  a  considerable  fortune.  I 
know  now  the  amount'of  it,  for  I  procured  it  during  your 
absence.  She  has  a  right  to  ask  you  for  your  accounts 
of  guardianship,  which,  as  I  had  foreseen  and  calculated, 
will  amount  to  about  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
francs ;  but  she  does  not  want  her  sister  to  be  brought 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  145 

up  in  constraint  and  privation.  She  will  give  you  an 
unconditional  receipt  for  all  sums  expended  or  economized 
by  you  during  her  minority.  It  is  for  you,  madame,  to 
address  to  her — I  will  not  say  thanks — but  at  least  to  give 
evidence  of  the  satisfaction  a  mother  ought  to  feel  under 
such  circumstances." 

Madame  de  Nives  had  expected  to  make  a  better  bar- 
gain by  her  unworthy  plots.  She  was  checkmated  and 
overwhelmed.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  she  could  not  u-t- 
ter  a  word,  and  treated  Mademoiselle  Marie  to  a  sort  of 
grimacing  smile,  with  a  jerk  of  tlie  head.  She  recovered, 
however,  strength  enougji  to  say  that  L<^onie  would  still 
be  very  poor,  since  the  possibility  of  laying  aside  even  a 
small  sum  in  the  large  and  expensive  Chateau  de  IsTives 
was  an  entirely  gratuitous  supposition  on  my  part. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  replied  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives,  rising.  "  M.  Chantebel,  would  you  be  kind  enough 
to  tell  me  the  amount  of  my  income  as  nearly  as  you 
can  ?  " 

"  If  you  sell  the  Mves  estate,  mademoiselle,  you  wiU 
have  an  income  of  about  fifty  thousand  francs.  If  you 
keep  it,  you  will  have  thirty  thousand." 

"  And  now,"  she  resumed,  "  will  you  ask  Madame  de 
Nives  how  large  an  income  she  requires  to  live  in  ease 
and  security  ! " 

"  I  shall  never  enjoy  those  two  blessings  again,"  said 
the  countess ;  "  I  must  have  at  least  fifteen  thousand 
francs  a  year  to  bring  up  my  daughter,  without  letting 
her  feel  the  chancre  in  her  situation." 

"  That,  with  your  small  savings,  of  which  I  also  know 
the  amount,  will  give  you  the  means  of  living  in  the  same 
manner  as  you  have  done  since  your  marriage.  Made- 
moiselle de  Nives  must  decide  if  your  affection  for  her 
erits  such  a  sacrifice." 


146  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

**  I  will  do  it .'  "  cried  Marie,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation ;  and,  perceiving  Jacques,  who  was  just  enter- 
ing the  room,  she  took  his  hand,  adding  :  "  We  will  make 
the  sacrifice;  but  upon  one  condition,  without  which  I 
shall  adhere  to  the  conditions  that  M.  Chantebel  has 
drawn  up — the  unconditional  receipt." 

"  What,  then,  is  this  condition  ? ''  inquired  Madame 
de  Nives,  whose  piercing  eyes  shone  with  a  metallic 
lustre. 

"  You  must  give  my  sister  to  me,  and  resign  all  your 
rights  over  her  to  me.  At  this  price  you  will  be  rich,  live 
where  you  please — excepting  at-Nives,  where  I  intend  to 
dwell  myself.  You  will  see  Leonie  ;  but  she  will  be  mine, 
mine  alone  ! — Jacques  !  you  consent  ?  " 

"  Joyfully  !  "  he  replied,  without  hesitation. 

Madame  de  Nives  did  not  appear  thunderstruck,  as  she 
should  have  done  in  conformity  to  the  character  she  was 
playing.  The  idea  was  not  new  to  her.  Marie  had  men- 
tioned it  to  Charliette,  and  the  countess  had  had  time  to 
reflect  upon  it.  She  feigned,  however,  a  new  fainting- 
fit, more  finished,  but  less  real  than  the  first.  Marie  and 
Miette  were  very  much  moved. 

"  This  is  too  cruel!  "  exclaimed  my  niece  ;  "  this  lady 
is  ill,  and  cannot  bear  such  emotion.  She  may  be  wicked 
— that  is  possible  ;  but  she  cannot  be  indifferent  to  her 
daughter,  and  you  are  demanding  too  much  of  her !  " 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  her,"  I  said  ;  "  and  do  not  be 
alarmed.  Go  to  the  house  and  wait  for  me,  and,  if 
Madame  Chantebel  has  returned,  tell  her  to  have  a  good 
dinner  ready  to  set  us  right  after  all  the  excitement  of 
the  morning. 

When  they  had  gone,  Madame  de  Nives  did  not  keep 
me  waiting  long  before  she  recovered  possession  of  her 
faculties.     She  slied  a  few  tears  whei;   resummg  the  sub- 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  147 

ject,  exclaiming  that  it  was  horrible,  and  that  Made- 
moiselle de  Nives  took  her  revenge  in  an  atrocious  man- 
ner. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  does  not  wish  for  revenge," 
I  replied.  "  She  possesses  in  reality  a  remarkable  sweet- 
ness and  gentleness.  She  has  not  addressed  to  you  one 
bitter  word  under  circumstances  where  the  wrong  you 
have  done  her  would  naturally  turn  her  heart  against^  you. 
She  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to  Leonie,  and  I  think  tlie 
child  returns  it  as  far  as  she  knows  how." 

"  It  is  certain  my  daughter  loves  every  one  excepting 
lier  mother  !  She  has  a  terrible  disposition.  She  was 
taught  to  dislike  me  when  she  was  very  young." 

"  I  know  it,  and  it  is  a  great  misfortune  ;  but  it  is  part- 
ly your  own  fault,  for  you  have  not  taken  the  right  course 
to  make  yourself  loved  by  her  and  respected  by  your  ser- 
vants." 

"  You  cannot,  however,  advise  me  to  abandon  her  to 
a  crazy  woman  who  has  taken  a  passing  fancy  for  her, 
and  will  soon  cease  to  care  for  her."  • 

"  When  she  ceases  to  care  for  her,  she  will  send  her 
back  to  you ;  but  then  you  must  bid  farewell  to  your 
income  of  fifteen  thousand  francs !  Pray,  then,  in  earnest, 
that  the  two  sisters  may  live  happily  together  !  " 

I  saw  plainly  that  Madame  de  Nives  perceived  the 
justice  of  the  argument.  She  still  discussed  the  question, 
however,  for  the  sake  of  appearances.  "  You  realy  think, 
then,"  she  resumed,  ''  that  Mademoiselle  de  Mves  is  ca- 
pable of  bringing  up  a  young  girl  in  a  suitable  manner?  " 

''  If  you  had  asked  this  question  yesterday,  I  sliould 
have  said,  '  No,  I  do  not  think  so.'  I  did  not  then  fully 
know  her  ;  while  to-day,  here  in  your  presence,  I  felt  a 
great  admiration  for  her.  This  childlike  generosity  has  a 
sublime  aspect  that  exalts  it  above  the   trifling  mistakes 


148  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

of  an  over  excited  imagination.  I  had  just  been  finding 
great  fault  with  her  when  you  entered  !  she  punished  me 
by  showing  an  admirable  repentance  and  sincerity.  I 
am  now  entirely  on  her  side,  which  will  not  prevent  me 
from  serving  you  in  taking  care  that  payment  of  your  in- 
come shall  be  made  a  serious  and  inviolable  contract." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  that  is  of  special  importance  !  "  cried  the 
countess,  involuntarily.  "  This  allowance  must  not  be  a 
lure." 

"  Neither  must  it  be  an  extortion,  "  I  replied  ;  *'  the 
allowance  will  cease  on  the  day  when  you  reassert  your 
claim  to  Leonie." 

"  That  is  understood,"  said  the  countess,  in  an  angry 
tone ;  "  but  if  Mademoiselle  Marie,  who  knows  nothing 
about  money,  should  ruin  herself !  I  must  have  a  mort- 
gage on  the  Nives  estate." 

'*  You  shall  have  it ;  but  do  not  fear  that  she  will  ruin 
herself  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  moment  she  marries  Jacques 
Ormonde  she  will  grow  richer  and  richer." 

''  Wilf  this  famous  Jacques  Ormonde,  who  is  called 
the  lady-killer,  make  his  wife,  and,  consequently,  my 
daughter,  happy  ?  " 

*'  This  lady-killer  has  the  best  heart  in  the  world,  and 
a  natural  disposition  of  the  finest  water." 

"  And,  while  awaiting  the  marriage,  what  shall  I  do 
with  my  daughter,  who  thinks  of  nothing  but  running 
away  from  me,  and  to  whose  absence  I  must  become  grad- 
ually accustomed,  in  order  to  have  courage  to  leave  her 
entirely  ?  " 

"  You  will  to  go  to  Nives  to  make  preparations  for  your 
departure.  Ninie  will  stay  at  my  house  with  Madem- 
oiselleMarie,  who,  being  betrothed  to  Jacques,  will  remain 
under  the  protection  of  her  future  uncle,' 


rHE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  149 

"  But  your  son — your  son  has  just  had — I  know  it 
very  well — an  intrigue  with  her  !  '^ 

"  That  is  one  of  Charliette's  lies.  My  son  is  an 
honest  man  and  a  serious-minded  man.  It  is  possible 
that  Charliette  wanted  to  make  money  out  of  him  also  ; 
but  he  is  sharper  than  Jacques.  Meanwhile,'  as  we  must 
not  give  occasion  for  gossip,  my  son  will  pass  the  rest  of 
his  vacation  with  his  cousin  at  Champgousse,  and  will 
not  return  home  until  the  marriage  takes  place.  We  will 
sign  on  that  day  the  deeds  that  concern  you  at  the  same 
time  as  the  marriage-contract,  and,  for  the  present,  as  you 
have  recovered  your  self-possession,  you  will  dine  at  our 
house  with  my  family  and  yours." 

'^  Impossible !  I  cannot  see  all  those  people ;  Ninie 
especially  !  That  child,  who  leaves  me  with  joy  in  her 
heart,  is  my  punishment." 

"  It  is  a  deserved  punishment,  Madame  de  Nives ! 
You  wished  to  debase,  ruin,  and  dishonor  your  husband's 
daughter — you  were  determined  either  to  make  her  a  nun 
or  to  destroy  her  character  forever  I  It  was  too  much ; 
you  even  wearied  the  patience  of  God.  Do  not  abuse  that 
of  men ;  and  take  every  precaution  to  keep  them  in 
ignorance  of  the  secret  designs  of  your  guilty  soul.  Offer 
your  daughter  as  a  recompense  for  your  cruel  deeds,  and 
accept  in  return  the  wordly  wealth  for  which  you  have 
worked  with  so  much  perseverance  and  so  little  scruple. 
You  must  dine  with  me,  since  you  have  told  my  wife 
everything  you  could  think  of  against  Mademoiselle 
Marie.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  confess  your  guilt  nor  to  re- 
tract your  words ;  but  we  will  tell  her  that  you  are  recon- 
ciled with  your  stepdaughter,  and  that,  through  my 
efforts,  an  arrangement  has  been  made  satisfactory  to  all 
parties  concerned.'' 


160  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Madame  de  Nives  yielded,  took  my  arm,  and  we 
went  together  towards  my  house.  As  we  came  out  of 
the  pinewood  I  saw  Charliette,  who  was  watching  us, 
very  much  disturbed  on  her  own  account  at  the  result  of 
our  conference.  "  We  must  settle  with  this  jade,"  I  said 
to  the  countess. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  replied,  iti  terror  ;  "  I  never  want  to 
see  her  again." 

''  For  that  very  reason  she  must  be  paid." 
And,  turning  towards  Charliette,  I  made  her  a  sign  to 
come  to  us.    She  quickly  obeyed  the  summons. 

"  The  time  for  settling  your  accounts  has  arrived,"  I 
said  ;  "  we  have  all  agreed  to  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  you.  M.  Jacques  Ormonde  has  paid  you  three 
thousand  francs — it  is  more  than  you  deserve.  He  has 
no  further  need  of  you.  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  will 
also  give  you  three  thousand  francs.  How  much  has  the 
Countess  de  Nives,  who  is  here  present,  promised 
you  ?  " 

"  Ten  thousand,"  replied  Charliette,  boldly. 

"  Only  five  thousand,"  replied  the  countess,  bristling 
with  indignation. 

"  On  the  day  when  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  comes  of 
age,"  I  rejoined,  "  you  can  come  to  my  house  to  receive 
the  sum  of  eight  thousand  francs,  after  which  you  will 
have  nothing  more  to  expect  from  any  one." 

"  That  is  little  for  so  much  work,"  replied  Charliette. 
"  If  I  told  all  that  I  know—" 


-^3^ 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEJ^NT,^  Inl 

"  You  «ui  tell  it  if  it  pleases  you  to  Db-ldnven  away 
in  all  quarters  as  a  promoter  of  intrigue,  and  a  vile 
woman.  If  you  talk  about  us,  we  will  talk  about  you 
also  ;  beware  !  " 

Charliette,  frightened  by  my  words,  went  off  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and,  during  the  ten  minutes  it  took 
us  to  reach  my  house,  I  saw  that  Madame  de  Nives  was 
rapidly  recovering  her  self-composure.  This  woman, 
whose  sole  impelling  power  and  sole  passion  was  avarice, 
horrified  me.  I  was  non^  the  less  very  polite,  respectful, 
and  attentive  to  her.  I  had  told  her  some  plain  truths, 
and  had  gained  a  good  cause.  I  had  no  angry  feeling  to 
excite  me,  and  I  was  satisfied  with  myself.  I  conducted 
her*to  a  room,  as  she  wished  to  rest  for  a  little  while. 

Madame  Chantebel  had  not  returned.  Miette  had 
courageously  gone  to  work  to  prepare  the  dinner.  She 
understood  the  art  of  cooking,  was  well  acquainted  with 
my  tastes,  and  much  beloved  by  my  servants.  I  saw  with 
pleasure  that  we  should  have  a  good  dinner,  and  that  no 
dish  would  be  a  failure — my  wife  not  being  there  to  ex- 
cite the  nerves  of  the  cook  by  giving  too  many  directions. 
It  gave  me  still  greater  pleasure  to  see  Henri  smiling  at 
Miette's  side,  and  helping  her  in  the  most  lively  mood  ; 
he  had  taken  off  his  coat  and  put  on  a  white  apron.  This 
was  so  contrary  to  his  tastes  and  usual  serious  bearing, 
that  I  could  not  conceal  my  surprise. 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  there  are  dra- 
matic and  romantic  heroines  here  who  would  be  very 
much  puzzled  to  know  how  to  make  a  simple  omelet. 
Emilie,  who  is  in  my  eyes  the  only  and  true  heroine  of 
the  day,  and  who  makes  no  effort  to  attract  attention, 
consecrates  herself  to  our  service  as  if  she  were  good  for 
Hothing  else.     It  is  only  just  for  me  to  save  her  all  the 


152  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

trouble  I  can,  or  at  least  make  her  laugh  by  ray  awkward- 
ness." 

And,  as  Miette  went  away  to  look  after  her  pastry— 
"  See,"  he  said,  "  how  skilful  and  quick  she  is  I  With 
her  silk  dress  and  lace  fichu,  she  takes  no  precautions, 
and  yet  she  will  not  soil  them  with  a  single  spot.  She  is 
in  her  element — home,  country  and  domestic  life." 

"  We  must  leave  her  there,**  I  replied,  with  a  malicious 
purpose.  "  Such  a  condition  is  not  poetic  enough  for  a 
young  man  of  the  present  time." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  father,  I  find  it  entirely  sufficient ! 
Poetry  is  present  everywhere,  if  one  has  the  eye  to  see  it. 
It  was  at  Vignolette  in  the  old  times,  when,  in  the  y^v^ 
middle  of  her  great,  black  kitchen,  where  the  huge  copper 
vessels  shone  so  brightly,  I  looked  at  Miette  as  she 
kneaded  in  her  pretty  fingers  the  cakes  for  our  breakfast. 
It  was  a  Rembrandt  with  one  of  Corregio's  figures  in 
the  centre.  Then  I  felt  the  charm  of  that  everyday  in- 
tercourse, and  of  this  model  woman.  I  forgot  everything, 
but  now  I  again  see  the  past  through  the  revived  medium. 
Miette  is  much  more  beautiful  than  she  was  in  those 
days,  and  has  become  much  more  graceful.  Besides,  I 
am  hungry ;  the  smell  of  the  food  seems  to  me  delicious. 
The  animal  is  in  harmony  with  the  poet  in  crying  out : 
'  Here  is  the  truth — a  well-regulated  and  well-appointed 
existence,  an  adorable  wife,  an  inexhaustible  depth  of 
confidence,  mutual  respect  and  tenderness.'  " 

"  You  have  come  to  a  full  comprehension  of  the  heart 
as  well  as  the  reason.  Will  you  not  tell  this  to  Emilie  ?  " 

"  No,  I  dare  not ;  I  am  not  yet  worthy  of  forgiveness. 
I  know  Miette  has  suffered  by  my  fault :  she  helieved  for 
a  day  or  two  that  I  was  in  love  with  the  heiress,  and  that 
I  was  willing  to  compromise  her  reputation  to  get  her 
away  from  Jacques.     Without  you,  dear  father — without 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT  153 

the  full  explanations  made  to-day,  she  would,  perhaps, 
still  believe  it.  Do  you  know  you  frightened  me  for  a 
moment  ?  But,  when  you  put  me  under  the  necessity  of 
telling  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  before  you  all  what  I  ought 
to  think,  and  what  I  really  had  thought,  of  her  frivolity, 
I  understood  that  you  were  rendering  me  a  great  service, 
and  I  regained  at  once  my  self-control  and  determined  to 
do  as  you  desired.  If  Marie's  odd  ways  surprised  me  for 
a  little  while,  no  one  but  myself  must  ever  know  it,  and, 
if  she  felt  any  doubt  in  regard  to  the  matter,  I  am  glad 
you  gave  me  the  opportunity  to  remove  the  impression. 
She  belongs  to  Jacques,  certainly,  and  to  no  one  else.  She 
has  a  noble  character,  notwithstanding  her  childish  triv- 
iality. Jacques  has  the  great  good  sense  that  is  wanting 
in  her,. and,  since  he  loves  her  dearly,  will  impart  it  to  her 
unconsciously,  without  wounding  her  pride.  He  will  al- 
ways say  the  same  as  her ;  but  he  will  do  it  in  such  a  way 
that  in  her  turn  she  will  think  like  him." 

"Very  well  reasoned,  my  son,  and  now  may  God 
grant  us  his  aid  !  In  these  results  that  pressing  circum- 
stances often  force  us  to  improvise,  life  strongly  resembles 
a  pleasing  romance.  I  own  that,  in  pleading  before  you 
the  cause  of  reason  and  right,  I  did  not  expect  such  a 
success — I  did  not  see  that  two  beautiful  and  good  mar- 
riages would  result  from  my  simple  and  sincere  words. 
But  where  are  our  lovers?  " 

"  Over  there,  on  that  bench  you  see  from  here.  I  be- 
lieve they  are  waiting  impatiently  for  the  countess's  de- 
cision in  regard  to  Mnie.  Do  you  think  she  will  give  her 
up?" 

"That  point  is  already  gained,"  "I  replied,  "and  I 
must  hasten  to  tell  them  so." 

Miette  at  this  moment  came  towards  us  with  her  pas- 
try ready  to  put  into  the  oven.     "  I  am  not  in  the  habit 


154  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

of  embracing  my  cooks,"  I  said,  kissing  her  on  the  fore- 
head ;  *'  but  this  one  is  so  much  to  my  taste  that  I  cannot 
refrain." 

Jacques  and  Marie,  seeing  me  leave  the  kitchen,  ran 
to  meet  me  with  Ninie.  "  Well,"  said  Mademoiselle  de 
Nives,  pointing  to  the  child,  "  may  I  hope  ?  " 

"  She  is  yours  !  "  I  replied,  in  a  low  tone,  "  Do  not 
say  a  word,  and  endeavor  to  avoid  additional  trouble  by 
inducing  her  to  bid  farewell  to  her  mother  properly." 

"  That  is  easy,"  said  Jacques  ;  and,  taking  Ninie  in  his 
arms :  "  Listen,  mademoiselle ;  your  mamma,  seeing  that 
you  are  very  well  here,  and  very  fond  of  us,  consents  to 
leave  you  a  few  days  longer  with  Suzette  at  Papa  Bebel's. 
You  will  certainly  thank  her  for  her  kindness  ?  You  will 
embrace  her,  and  be^  very  good,  will  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ! "  cried  the  child,  beside  herself  with  joy  ; 
"I  will  be  very  good.  What  happiness*! — We  shall  go 
after  dinner  to  the  fountain  with  Suzette  and  my  hobby- 
horse, Henri." 

"  It  is  I  who  will  be  the  hobby-horse,"  replied  Jacques, 
smiling,  "  and  Suzette  will  make  the  boats." 

"  Have  you  pardoned  me,"  I  said  to  Mademoiselle  de 
N'ives,  "  and  will  you  consent  to  remain  here  until  your 
marriage  ?  " 

Marie  took  my  hands  with  that  charming  outpouring 
of  the  heart  that  atoned  for  every  fault,  and,  in  spite  of 
my  resistance,  pressed  her  lips  to  them.  "  You  have 
saved  me,"  she  said  ;  "  you  are  and  you  will  be  my  father  ! 
I  need  so  much  to  be  directed  and  to  be  really  loved ! 
You  must  make  me  worthy  of  dear  Jacques,  who  spoils 
me,  and  from  whom  I  cannot  draw  the  slightest  re- 
proach." 

'•'-  Then  I  will  scold  you,  and  he  will  console  you.  He 
will  tell  you  that  you  are  perfection." 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT,  155 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Jacques,  "  I  shall  say  so !  '* 

"And  that  I  am  an  old  dotard." 

"  As  to  that,  no,"  he  replied,  half  stifling  me  as  he 
pressed  me  to  his  breast ;  "  you  will  always  be  our  guar- 
dian ansjel." 

Meantime  my  wife  arrived,  and  her  arms  dropped  with 
surprise  when  she  saw  me  embracing  the  lovers.  Her 
eyes  were  not  large  enough  to  examine  the  countenance 
and  costume  of  Mademoiselle  de  Nives. 

"Madame  Chantebel,"  I  said,  "while  presenting  her, 
"  be  kind  enough,  I  beg  you,  to  bless  and  embrace  your 
future  niece,  a  peasant-girl,  as  you  see,  but  very  well- 
born, and  worthy  of  your  affectionate  interest." 

"Is  this  a  joke  ! "  asked  my  wife;  "would  Jacques 
marry  in  this  way,  and  at  once,  a  person  with  whom  we 
are  not  acquainted  ?  " 

"A  few  words,  madam e,  will  make  you  acquainted 
with  me,"  said  Mademoiselle  de  Nives.  "  I  came  to  Per- 
cemont  in  disgjuise  to  consult  M.  Chantebel.  He  has  ex- 
pressed  his  approval  of  my  marriage  with  Jacques 
Ormonde.  My  stepmother  arrived  unexpectedly.  M. 
Chantebel  brought  about  a  reconciliation  between  us,  and 
she  even  consented  to  bestow  on  me  an  inestimable  treas- 
ure— the  child  whom  you  see  playing  yonder,  whom  you^ 
love  also,  and  who  will  become  mine.'' 

."The  child!  your  stepmother!  1  do  not  understand 
you  at  all,"  said  my  wife,  astounded.  "  Is  it  a  wager  to 
mystify  me  ?  *"' 

"  Look,"  I  said,  "  at  that  beautiful  lady  who  is  adjust- 
ing  her  toilet,  and  passing  and  repassing  before  the 
window  of  chamber  number  two  in  your  house," 

"  The  Countess  de  Kives !     Is  she  here  ?  " 

*'  And  Mademoiselle  Marie  de  Nives  also." 


156  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

"And  the  countess  gives  her  daughter — she  gives 
Ninie  to — " 

*'  To  the  person  of  whom  she  has  spoken  so  unkindly, 
and  who  does  not  deserve  it.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that 
your  great  countess  was  a  fraud  ?  " 

"  I  find  the  word  very  mild  now,  but  I  suppose  there 
is  money  in  all  this  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal  of  money,  for  Mademoiselle  de  Nives 
does  not  count  the  cost  when  her  heart  speaks,  and  her 
act  is  still  more  worthy  of  commendation  since  she  had 
nothing  to  fear  from  the  calumny  that  menaced  her. 
Emilie,  Jacques,  Henri,  and  I,  at  their  head  were  present 
to  defend  and  exonerate  her." 

"  And  you  still  receive  this  countess  ?  She  has  made 
herself  at  home  :  " 

"  Until  this  evening  only.  She  has  been  very  much 
agitated  and  we  are  taking  care  of  her.  She  is  going  to 
dine  with  us." 

"  To  dine  with  us,  indeed  !  And  I  not  at  home  !  And 
with  an  ignorant  cook,  who  has  no  brains  ! '"' 

"  Therefore  I  have  found  another,  a  wonder  whom  I 
wish  to  present  to  you.  Will  you  not  embrace  your 
future  niece  ?  " 

Marie  approached  gracefully  and  confidently.  Madame 
Chantebel  was  much  moved,  and,  when  after  the  embrace, 
Mademoiselle  de  Nives  took  her  hand  to  kiss  in  token  of 
respect,  my  wife  had  tears  in  her  eyes ;  she  was  con- 
quered. 

''  This  does  not  prevent  me  from  thinking,"  she  said, 
as  we  were  on  our  way  to  the  kitchen,  "  that  Jacques's 
marriage  is  remarkable,  and  far  above  his  condition. 
Since  you  understand  so  well  how  to  perform  miracles,  M. 
Chantebel,  why  did  you  not  think  of  your  own  son 
before^  any  one  else?     Henri  would  have  been   a  much 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  157 

more  suitable  and  agreeable  husband  for  this  young  lady 
in  all  respects  than  the  great  Jacques." 

"  My  dear  wife,"  I  replied,  ''  listen  to  me.  Leave  the 
cooking  to  take  care  of  itself — everything  is  going  on  as 
well  as  you  can  desire  ;  let  us  talk  a  little  while  under 
these  trees,  like  two  old  friends  who  ought  to  have  but 
one  heart  and  one  will." 

I  related  to  my  wife  all  that  had  passed,  and  added  : 
"You  see  plainly  that  Mademoiselle  de  Nives  waited  for 
and  hoped  for  with  good  reason  by  Jacques,  could  not  be 
the  wife  of  any  one  else,  unless  it  were  of  an  ambitious 
person,  entirely  without  scruple." 

"  You  are  right,  M.  Chantebel,  I  do  not  deny  it ;  only 
I  regret — "  ^ 

"There  is  nothing  to  regret.  Henri  will  be  happy  in 
his  marriage,  happier  than  any  one  in  the  world  !  "  . 

"  I  see  what  you  are  driving  at,  M.  Chantebel !     You  ) 
wish  him  to  marry  your  Miette  Ormonde  !  " 

"  He  wishes  it  also  ;  he  loves  her." 

**  It  is  you  who  make  him  think  so." 

"No,  I  was  very  careful  not  to  use  any  influence  in 
the  matter ;  it  would  have  been  the  means  of  estranging 
him  from  her,  and  I  am  not  so  foolish.  What  have  you, 
then,  against  my  poor  Miette  ?  " 

"  Against  her  ?  Nothing,  to  be  sure — I  do  justice  to 
her  merits  ;  but  it  is — it  is  her  hat." 

"  Her  village  hat?  Why  Mademoiselle  de  Kiveshas 
one  on  to-day  exactly  like  it,  and  looks  none  the  less  like 
a  countess," 

"  Yes,  but  she  is  one  in  reality — that  is  easily  seen." 

"  And  you  think  that  our  Miette  looks  like  an  ungainly 
woman  ?  " 

"No,  she  resembles  her  mother,  who  resembled  you. 


158  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

There  is  nothing  common  in  our  family ;  but  Miette  is 
cold,  she  does  not  love  Henri." 

"  Ah,  there  is  your  mistake  !  Miette  appears  cold  to 
you  because  she  is  dignified  and  spirited.  I  thought  you 
would  understand  her,  for  I  remember  some  one  whom  I 
loved  and  sought  in  marriage — a  long  time  ago.  This 
person  was  jealous  of  a  little  blonde,  without  the  least 
occasion,  whom  I  asked  to  dance  with  me,  I  know  not 
why,  at  a  ball.  My  lady-love  wept,  but  I  knew  nothing 
about  it,  and  she  never  confessed  her  resentment  until 
after  our  marriage." 

"  That  person  was  myself,"  replied  my  wife ;  "  and  I 
own  I  should  sooner  have  been  cut  lio  pieces  than  confess 
that  I  was  jealous." 

'^ Why  so,  tell  me?" 

"  Because — because  jealousy  is  a  feeling  that  leads  us 
to  doubt  the  man  we  love.  If  we  were  sure  that  he  was 
deceiving  us,  we  should  cease  to  care  for  him  ;  but  we 
are  not  sure ;  we  are  afraid  of  offending  him  and  of 
lowering  ourselves  in  his  estimation  by  the  avowal  of  our 
distrust." 

"  Yery  well  explained,  wife.  And,  then,  one  suffers 
all  the  more  from  the  effort  to  conceal  it  ?  " 

"  One  suffers  much,  and  must  exercise  great  fortitude ! 
Do  you  think  that  Miette  has  that  fortitude  ?  " 

"And  that  endurance!  All  the  more  since  her  pride 
has  been  wounded  by  some  one." 

"  By  whom  I  " 

'•  That  is  the  very  thing  I  want  to  know." 

"  Is  it  perhaps  by  me  ?  " 

"  That  is  impossible." 

"Well,  it  is  the  truth.  I  spoke  sharply  to  her, 
because  she  seemed  to  think  Henri  would  stay  in  Paris. 
I  confess  I  was  afraid  of  it  also,  and  was  out  of  temper 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  159 

about  it.  I  vented  my  spite  on  poor  Emilie,  and  don't 
know  what  I  said  to  her.  She  went  away  in  consterna- 
tion, and,  as  I  have  not  seen  her  since,  I  supposed  she  was 
in  the  sulks ;  but  I  assure,  you  I  bear  her  no  ill-will,  and 
love  her  as  much  as  ever." 

"Willyou  tellher  so?" 

"  At  once.  You  say  she  is  here ;  where  is  she  hid- 
ing?" 

''  In  the  kitchen,  with  Henri." 

"  Henri  in  the  kitchen  ?  This  is,  indeed,  something 
new  !     He,  so  aristocratic  !  " 

"  He  declares  that  nothing  is  so  distinguished  as  a 
young  and  beautiful  girl  engaged  in  the  duties  of  house- 
keeping, and  nothing  so  deserving  of  respect  as  the  mother 
of  a  family  like  you  taking  care  of  the  well-being  of  the 
household." 

"  That  means  that  I  ought  to  go  and  see  to  the  din- 
ner?" 

"  It  means  that  Emilie  has  it  in  charge  already,  and 
that  Henri  looks  upon  her  when  he  says  the  woman  he 
loves  will  be  a  person  useful,  serious,  devoted,  and 
charming  like  his  mother." 

"  M.  Chantebel,  you  have  a  golden  tongue  !  The 
serpent  had  a  voice  like  yours  in  paradise.  You  do  with 
me  whatever  you  please,  and  pretend  all  the  time  that  I 
am  the  mistress  !  " 

"  Yes,  you  are  the  mistress  ;  for,  if  you  are  unwilling 
to  receive  Miette,  Henri  and  I  must  give  her  up. 

Just  at  this  moment  Henri  came  to  announce  that 
dinner  was  ready,  and,  reading  from  the  expression  of 
my  eyes  the  favorable  condition  of  affairs,  he  embraced 
his  mother,  and  said  to  her :  "  Mother,  I  have  a  secret  to 
tell  you  after  dinner." 


160  THE  TOWER  OF  FERCE MONT. 

"Tell  it  immediately,"  she  replied,  much  excited. 
"  Dinner. win- wait.     I  want  to  know  everything  !  " 

"  Very  well.  Only  two  words  are  required,  ray  dear 
mother.  I  love  Emilie — I  have  always  loved  her ;  but  I 
do  not  wish  to  tell  her  so  without  your  permission.'' 

My  dear,  good  wife  did  not  reply,  but  ran  to  the 
kitchen.  She  found  Miette  in  the  pantry,  washing  and 
wiping  her  pretty  hands.  She  took  her  by  the  shoulders, 
then  by  the  neck,  and  embraced  her  maternally  several 
times.  Miette  returned  the  caresses  with  her  eyes  full 
of  tears  and  a  charming  smile  upon  her  lips. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  any  other  explanation,"  I  said ; 
"this  is  the  best  of  all." 

Henri  thanked  and  embraced  his  mother  also,  and 
then  we  went  to  take  our  places  at  the  dinner-table. 
The  dinner  was  so  good  that,  notwithstanding  the  gi'eat 
constraint  of  the  first  moment,  we  could  not  resist  the 
animal,  though  at  the  same  time  profoundly  cordial  un- 
derstanding of  persons  who  hold  social  communion  to- 
gether after  the  fatigue  of  a  struggle  and  the  relief  of  a 
reconciliation.  I  do  not  like  to  eat  much  or  for  a  long 
time,  but  I  like  a  table  elegantly  supplied  with  choice 
viands.  Our  thoughts,  our  faculties,  our  intellectual  and 
moral  disposition,  depend  much  upon  the  delicacy  or  the 
grossness  of  the  food  we  have  assimulated.  My  wife,  a 
much  poorer  eater  than  I,  was  almost  greedy  on  thi^  oc_ 
casion,  with  the  intention — very  evident  to  me — of  com- 
plimenting Emilie,  and  showing  her  that  she  admitted 
her  superiority. 

As  I  like  to  study  character,  and  every  action  has  a 
significance  in  my  mind,  I  remarked  that  Mademoiselle 
de  I^ives  ate  nothing  but  creams,  fruits,  and  sweets,  while 
Madam  Alix  de  Nives,  with  her  extreme  thinness,  had 
the  robust  appetite  of  avaricious  persons    who  dine  at 


rj  ■•  , 
THE  TOWER  OF  PERVMftiNT, 

other  people's  expense.  Burly  Jacqi 
thing  cheerfully,  with  a  sincere  and  hearty^ 
but  this  angular  person,  with  her  2:)inched-up  mouth  and 
handsome,  straight  nose,  too  flat  underneath,  appeared 
to  be  carefully  storing  a  supply  of  provisions  in  her 
stomach,  as  certain  animals  do  in  their  nests  at  the  ap- 
proach of  winter.  Vice  is  an  ugly  thing,  and  the  de- 
scription of  it  is  disagreeable,  since  it  is  impossible  to 
refrain  from  seeing  its  serious  side ;  but,  when  one  has 
escaped  from  its  snares,  one  maybe  permitted  to  perceive 
its  ludicrous  aspect,  and  amuse  oneself  inwardly  as  I  did 
in  replenishing  the  countess's  plate ;  she  was  seated  at 
my  right  hand,  and  treated  by  us  all  with  every  appear- 
ance of  tlie  most  devoted  hospitality.  Ninie's  chair  had 
been  placed  next  to  her's  ;  she  insisted,  however,  with  a 
great  deal  of  affectation,  on  her  sitting  next  to  Mademoi- 
selle de  Nives. 

"By  the  side  of  Suzette!"  exclaimed  the  child. 
"  Ah,  mamma,  liow  kind  you  are  !  " 

"  These  are  the  first  affectionate  w^ords  she  has  ad- 
dressed to  me  in  her  life,"  said  Madame  Alix  to  me  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  They  will  not  be  the  last,""  I  replied.  "  She  was 
left  to  your  servants  too  much,  and  learned  distrust  and 
rebellion  from  their  evil  example.  Now  she  will  be 
brought  up  in  the  right  way  by  generous  souls,  and  will 
learn  to  respect  you." 

Very  much  at  ease  in  regard  to  future  proceedings, 
we  put  Madame  de  Nives  into  her  carriage  at  dusk,  and 
Marie  placed  the  child  in  her  arms  for  the  last  time, 
promising  to  see  her  again  in  a  fortnight.  Madame  Alix 
pretended  to  be  much  affected  at  parting  with  her  child, 
and  made  the  movements  of  a  person  whose  sobs  pre- 
vent utterance ;  then  turning  to  me  while  giving  back 


162  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

Ninie — "Remember,"  she   said,  "I  must  have   a  mort- 
gage." 

As  the  carriage  departed  I  indulged  in  an  immoder- 
ate outburst  of  laughter,  which  amazed  Miette  and  my 
wife,  the  one  as  simple-hearted  as  the  other,  aad  all  dis" 
posed  to  be  sympathetic.  ^ 

"  Indeed,  M.  Chantebel,  your  keart  is  too  hard  !  " 
cried  Bebelle  ;  for,  following  Mademoiselle  Mnie's  ex- 
ample, we  all  called  my  wife  by  this  nickname. 

"  Oh,  you  wise  woman !  "  I  replied,  "you  are  pitying 
the  vulture  that  digests  comfortably  the  fortune  that  has 
been  given  her  with  the  dinner  that  has  been  served  for 
her."' 

When  I  had  talked  freely  with  my  dear  family,,  Jac- 
ques Ormonde  raised  an  objection  to  one  part  of  my 
plan.  "  I  ask  nothing  better,"  he  said,  "  than  to  return 
to  Champgousse,  where  I  am  thoroughly  domesticated  ; 
but  I  confess  that  I  am  no  longer  so  eager  to  build  a 
house  there  for  my  own  use  ^ince  Mademoiselle  Marie 
prefers  to  live  in  her  chateau,  and  I  have  no  reason  for 
regretting  my  small  farm.  The  country  is  not  lively, 
and  my  dog-hole  is  already  becoming  too  contracted  for 
me,  though  all  by  myself.  I  think  that,  even  for  a  fort- 
night, Henri,  whom  you  condemn  to  this  exile,  will  be 
very  uncomfortable.  I  propose  an  amendment;  two 
beds  can  be  carried  to  the  Tower  of  Percemont,  we  shall 
be  pleasantly  located  there,  and  nearer  you,  while  the 
proprieties  will  be  equally  observed." 

"  Ko,  that  is  too  near,"  I  replied.  "  We  all  need  a 
.short  season  of  reflective  and  philosophical  retirement 
before  being  reunited  in  the  intoxication  of  happiness  ; 
but  I  will  soften  the  sentence,  for  I  also  lind  Champ- 
gousse too  far  off,  and  I  would  like  to  have  you.  both 
where  I  can  conveniently  discuss  with  you  questioi.s  of 


THE  TOWER  OF  FERCEMONT.  163 

importance  in  regard  to  future  arrangements.  Henri 
admires  Yignolette,  which  is  within  a  stone's  throw,  and 
Ave  need  Emelie  at  our  house  for  all  kinds  of  preparatir  as. 
She  must  stay  here,  and  you  will  reside  at  your  sister's 
w4th  my  son." 

This  conclusion  was  adopted,  and  we  found  it  very 
convenient  to  dine  together  every  Sunday  either  at  Vigno- 
let.te  or  at  my  house. 

I  plainly  foresaw  that  Jacques's  marriage  could  not 
take  place  until  six  weeks.  We  needed  that  time  to 
regulate  the  settlement  of  ^N'inie's  fortune,  and  the  con- 
ditions on  which  it  was  to  be  held.  And  then  I  did  not 
wish  to  hurry  this  marriage  which  had  been  brought 
about  so  unexpectedly.  I  knew,  indeed,  that  Mademoi- 
selle de  Nives  would  have  no  reason  to  repent  of  her 
choice,  but  for  all  that  she  needed  time  for  reflection, 
and  I  wished  to  devote  all  the  time  possible  to  her'  intel- 
lectual and  moral  education. 

The  dear  child  made  the  task  easy  for  me.  I  dis- 
cussed with  her  the  dalicate  questions  concerning  love, 
marriage,  and  monastic  celibacy.  I  discovered  in  her 
some  regret  for  that  renunciation  that  had  always  been 
held  up  to  her  as  a  condition  of  grandeur  and  purity,  and 
had  to  destroy  many  false  ideas  regarding  the  world  and 
domestic  life.  She  could  not  have,  and  did  not  have, 
any  systematic  defence ;  she  was,  fortunately,  very  igno- 
rant. I  had  nothing  to  combat  but  an  exaltation  of  ^ 
feeling ;  I  made  her  understand  that  the  most  important 
employment  of  our  powers  and  resources  is  to  bring  up 
a  family  and  to  give  to  humanity  members  worthy  the 
name  of  men.  I  initiated  her  into  a  respect  for  that  ^ 
sacred  law  which  she  had  been  educated  to  regard  as  the 
worst  thing  possible  for  the  true  purpose  and  attainments 
of  the  soul.     She  listened  to  me  with  surprise,  but  also 


164  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

with  earnest  interest,  and,  very  sensible  to  the  good  in- 
fluence of  intelligible  and  friendly  words,  declared  that 
no  teacher  had  ever  moved  and  delighted  her  as  I  did. 

The  excellent  Emilie,  on  her  side,  gave  her  the  neces- 
sary instruction.  She  had  already  undertaken  at  Vigno- 
lette  to  interest  her  in  a  judicious  course  of  reading ;  but, 
preoccupied  or  over-excited,  the  pupil  had  fatigued  the 
mistress  to  no.  purpose.  Now  she  was  attentive  and  do- 
cile. Intelligence  was  not  wanting,  and  I  must  say  that 
Miett^  with  her  serene  simplicity  was  an  admirable 
teacher.  Miette  liked  to  do  well  everything  she  under- 
cook. At  the  convent,  which  she  entered  as  a  peasant, 
she  came  out  knowing  everything  better  than  her  compan- 
ions, and  she  had  continued  her  studies  since  her  return 
to  her  own  home.  She  had  always  consulted  me  in  the 
choice  of  books,  and,  when  she  had  read  them,  came  to 
discuss  them  with  me,  to  present  her  objections,  and  to 
ask  me  to  solve  them.  I  saw  then  that  she  had  read,  and 
read  well,  and  admired  the  peaceful  harmony  that  reigned 
in  her  brain,  which  still  retained  its  freshness  and  healthy 
action  in  spite  of  the  constant  exercise  of  the  will  and  the 
rigid  performance  of  moral  obligations.  I  understood 
perfectly  the  worth  of  the  woman  I  wished  to  bestow  upon 
my  son ;  and  Mademoiselle  de  Nives,  who  until  the 
present  time  had  known  only  the  patience  and  kindness 
of  heart,  now  comprehended  the  superiority  of  her  com- 
panion. At  the  end  of  a  month  she  knew  enough  to  have 
no  longer  the  resource  of  saying  she  was  too  ignorant  to 
be  judicious. 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT,  166 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Whei?^  Marie  was  twenty-one  years  old,  that  is  about 
a  fortnight  after  she  took  up  her  abode  with  me,  and 
when  all  her  affairs  were  settled,  signed,  authenticated, 
and  terminated,  and  when  Madame  Alix,  satisfied  and 
delighted,  had  taken  flight  for  Monaco,  where  she  wished 
to  pass  the  winter,  Jacques  Ormonde  came  with  Henri  to 
take  possession  of  the  Tower  of  Percemont.  The  weather 
was  still  fine,  the  chimneys  did  not  smoke,  and  we  saw 
each  other  every  day.  Mademoiselle  Ninie  went  to  make 
boats  with  her  sister  as  often  as  she  wis-hed,  and  Bdbelle 
had  the  table  well  served  all  the  time  without  giving  her- 
self any  trouble,  and  without  having  dramatic  scenes  with 
the  cook.  Miette,  after  finishing  her  duty  as  teacher, 
hastened  to  pluck  a  partridge  or  make  butter.  Nothing 
was  ever  behindhand  for  a  moment,  even  when  my  wife, 
who  had  a  restless  nature,  anticipated  the  time  fixed  by 
herself  for  such  a  piece  of  work.  Besides,  Miette  pre- 
served without  effort  a  blind  submission,  which  is  the 
sine  qua  non  towards  a  provincial  mother-in-law,  and 
Bdbelle  thenceforth,  finding  herself  satisfied  in  her  legiti- 
mate pride  as  a  housewife,  gave  the  absolute  government 
of  the  household  into  my  niece's  hands,  and  avowed  that 
repose  was  occasionally  very  pleasant. 

Jacques  Ormonde,  during  this  time,  was  receiving 
great  benefit  from  Henri's  influence.  Their  tete-Ortete  at 
Vignolette  had  been  employed  in  mutual  comprehension 
and  appreciation  of  each  other. 

"  We  did  not  think  of  running  about  or  of  shooting," 


166  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT, 

said  Jacques.  "  Would  you  believe  that  we  shut  our- 
selves lip  at  Vignolette  like  two  hermits,  and  that  the 
only  exercise  we  took  was  to  walk  in  the  vineyards  or 
the  garden  while  we  talked  together  from  morning  till 
evening?  We  had  so  much  to  say  to  each  other  !  Truly 
we  were  but  little  acquainted  before.  Henri  confessed  to 
me  that  he  thought  I  was  all  stomach.  I  owned  to  him 
that  I  thought  he  was  all  brain. 

We  discovered  that  we  had,  above  all,  hearts  that  un- 
derstood each  other  perfectly.  Emilie  will  find  her  cellar 
in  as  good  order  as  when  she  gave  us  the  keys.  We 
drank  nothing  but  the  water  of  Anval.  We  felt  from  tte 
beginning  that  we  were  sufficiently  excited  by  the  stirring 
emotions  our  souls  had  experienced." 

"This  is  the  reason  you  look  refreshed,  and  like  one 
rejuvenated.  Continue  this  regimen,,  my  dear  boy,  and 
in  a  few  weeks  time  you  will  again  become  the  handsome 
Jacquet." 

"isTever  fear,  uncle;  I  see  now  how  it  happens  that, 
after  having  been  the  favorite  of  so  many  women  who 
were  good  judges,  I  ran  aground  against  a  little  schoolgirl 
who,  without  your  aid,  never  would  have  loved  me.  I 
must  now  recover  the  power  of  pleasing.  I  have  no  desire 
to  make  myself  a  laughing-stock  the  first  time  I  kiss  my 
intended  wife." 

"  Add  oiie  thing  more,"  said  Henri ;  "  that  you  made 
sober  reflections  upon  the  duties  of  life,  such  as  you 
never  took  time  to  make  before  !  We  make  mutual  con- 
fessions ;  one  was  no  better  than  the  other ;  but  we 
touched  upon  each  other's  faults  more  lightly.  "You  were 
too  lenient?  I  was  too  severe  ;  we  mean,  however,  to 
walk  henceforth  in  the  true  path,  and,  if  our  life  is  not 
beautiful  and  good,  I  hope  it  will  not  be  our  fault  anv 
longer." 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  167 

Jacques  left  us  to  join  Marie  and  Ninie — who,' very 
conveniently,  clung  to  her  sister  like  a  shadow — in  gather 
ing  the  fresh  bouquet  that  every  day  adorned  our  family 
table.  The  frost  was  not  yet  severe.  The  garden  still 
contained  some  splendid  chinaasters,  model  tea-roses, 
mignonette  and  heliotrope,  in  abundance,  and  many 
varieties  of  mallows,  the  beautiful,  curled  leaves  of 
which  enliven  and  embellish  the  pyramids  of  fruit  at 
dessert.  ^ 

"  Come,  now,"  I  said  to  Henri,  "  what  are  you  going 
to  tell  me  of  yourself?  Tou  have  said  nothing  to  Miette, 
I  know—"    • 

"  And  I  shall  say  nothing  to  her,"  he  replied.  "  I 
cannot  think  of ^the  proper  words,  my  heart  is  too  full.  I 
found  again  at  Yignolette  all  the  sweetness  of  my  first  in- 
toxication ;  every  leaf,  every  blade  of  grass,  was  a  page  of 
my  life,  and  brouo^lit  back  to  me  a  pure  and  burning  image 
of  the  past.  Emilie's  abode  is  a  sanctuary  for  me.  Would 
you  believe  tliat  1  did  not  allow  myself  to  look  into  her 
chamber,  even  from  the  outside,  though  the  casements 
were  often  left  open  ?  I  was  contented  with  examining 
the  embroidery  on  her  furniture  ;  every  stitch  patiently 
shaded  and  brought  into  line  was  a  reproach  to  the  hours 
I  had  lost  or  employed  unworthily  when  far  away  from 
her.  What  a  frightful  contrast  there  is  between  the  life 
of  a  pure  girl  and  a  gay  young  man,  even  among  the 
least  depraved  of  his  class  !  Emilie  is  already  twenty- 
two  years  old  ;  she  has  passed  three  or  four  years  in 
waiting  to  see  if  my  will  and  pleasure  would  bring  me 
back  to  her,  the  most  trying  years,  perhaps,  in  a  woman's 
life !  She  has  risen  above  the  endurance  of  solitude,  or 
has  accepted  it ;  a  glance  at  the  velvet-down  of  her  cheeks, 
at  the  purity  of  her  smooth  eyelids  and  rosy  lips,  gives 
abundant  proof  that  an  immodest  idea,  or  simply  a  bold 


168  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

one,  has  never  tlirown  its  shadow  over  this  flower,  this 
precious  diamond. 

"  Jacques,  in  his  hours  of  unreserved  confidence,  con- 
fessed his  many  indiscretions,  and  I  did  not  laugh,  for  I 
remembered  my  own  shortcomings.  If  I  have  become 
reconciled  with  myself  on  account  of  my  good  resolutions. 
I  cannot  yet  get  rid  of  a  feeling  of  shame  in  Emilie's  pres- 
ence. Here  we  are  reunited  at  last,  living  under  each 
other's  eyes.  Every  moment  when  I  can  approach  her 
without  being  intrusive,  I  seek  her  smile,  offer  my  assist- 
ance, or  talk  with  her  of  old  times,  that  is,  of  our  Old  and 
happy  love !  I  see  plainly  she  has  not  forgotten  the  en- 
joyment of  the  past ;  she  is  pleased  with  my  good  memory? 
and  smiles  or  sighs  at  the  remembrance  of  our  childish 
joys  and  sorrows.  She  understands,  certainly,  that  I  am 
not  ardently  reviving  all  this  past  in  order  to  bury  it  in 
barren  regret ;  but  when  I  am  ready  to  put  into  the  pres- 
ent the  word  happiness,  I  perceive  tlie  necessity  of  com- 
mencing with  that  oi  forgiveness,  and  feeling  that  years 
of  reparation  can  alone  give  me  this  right.  I  cannot  say 
a  single^word.  When,  then,  alas !  shall  I  see  tlie  day 
draw  near,  in  which  I  can  say  to  her,  '  Be  my  wife ! '  " 

*'  Do  not  be  so  foolish,"  I  said  to  him.  "  Ignore  your 
scruples,  and  ask  her  at  the  first  opportunity." 

Shortly  afterwards,  Emilie  passed  us  with  a  basket  of 
ripe  grapes  gracefully  posed  upon  her  head.  If  she  had 
been  a  coquette,  she  could  not  have  chosen  a  richer  or  more 
becoming  headdress.  The  delicate  vine  branches,  with 
their  varied  shades  of  vivid  color,  hung  down  over  her 
dark  hair,  and  the  grapes,  brilliant  as  garnets,  formed  a 
diadem  on  her  beautiful  brow,  as  pure  and  proud  as  that 
of  a  chaste  nymph. 

"Miette,"  said  Henri,  who  drew  her  towards  me,  "  will 
you  be  wholly  the  daughter  of   your  uncle,  who   loves 


THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  169 

you  SO  much,  and  the  wife  of  your  eousin,  who  adores 
you." 

"  If  you  think  I  deserve  the  happiness  of  being  yours 
for  ever,"  replied  Miette,  putting  her  arms  ait)und  my 
neck,  "  take  me,  I  belong  to  you." 

The  two  marriages  took  place  on  the  same  day,  and 
the  two  weddings  made  but  one  at  the  Maison-Blanclie  ; 
tlien  Henri  and  his  wife  went  to  pass  a  few  days  in  theii- 
beloved  solitude  at  Vignolette.  Marie  and  her  husband 
went  away  with  Ninie  to  commence  housekeeping  in  the 
fine  old  Chateau  de  IsTives,  which  they  were  obliged  to 
refurnish,  for  Madame  Alix  had  naturally  carried  every- 
thing away,  even  to  the  tongs.  Jacques  appreciated  the 
value  of  money,  but  he  had  the  good  sense  to  sympa- 
thize in  his  wife's  disinterestedness,  and,  instead  of  being 
indignant,  his  feelings  found  expression  in  loud  bursts  of 
laughter,  so  that  the  avaricious  despoliation  of  their  home 
was  for  several  days  a  source  of  much  mirth. 

Besides,  everything  was  not  lost.  One  evening  Marie 
said  to  Jacques :  "  Take  a  pickaxe  and  shovel  and  we 
will  explore  the  park.  I  intend,  if  my  memory  does  not 
fail  me,  to  give  you  the  pleasure  of  digging  up  a  treas- 
ure." 

She  searched  a  few  minutes  among  the  ferns  which 
covered  a  remote  corner  of  the  park,  and  suddenly  ex- 
claimed :  "  This  must  be  the  place  ;  here  is  the  old  box- 
wood tree  ;  this  is  the  j^lace ;  work  away  !  " 

Jacques  turned  up  the  ground  as  she  directed,  and 
found  an  iron-bound  casket,  containing  the  diamonds  of 
the  late  Countess  de  Nives.  Some  days  .before  her 
death,  foreseeing  the  ambition  or  distrusting  the  rapa- 
cious instincts  of  her  successor,  she  had  confided  her  secret 
to  an  old  gardener,  and  had  made  him  conceal  her  family 
jewels  in  this  spot,  directing  him  to  inform  her  daughter 


170  THE  TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT. 

of  the  hidden  treasure  at  a  proper  time.  The  gardener 
died  a  little  while  after  ;  but  his  aged  wife  had  shown  the 
place  to  Marie,  who  had  not  forgotten  it ;  to  her  these 
diamonds  were  doubly  precious  as  imperishable  souvenirs 
of  her  mother. 

However,  the  newly-married  pair  were  somewhat 
straightened  pecuniarily  during  the  first  year  of  their 
marriage,  but  they  scarcely  perceived  it.  They  were 
happy;  they  dearly  loved  Ninie,  who  repaid  their  devo- 
tion, and,  though  until  this  time  she  had  been  small  and 
delicate,  she  soon  became  as  plump  as  a  skylark  in  full 
corn  and  as  bright  as  a  rose  in  the  warm  sunshine. 

At  the  return  of  the  fine  season,  I  determined  to  cele- 
brate St.  John's  day  with  all  my  family  gathered  around 
me,  for  3t.  John  was  my  wife's  patron  saint.  As  all  the 
young  people  were  going  to  pass  the  day  with  us,  I  ar- 
ranged a  pleasant  surprise,  by  giving  them  an  elegant 
lunch  at  the  Tower  of  Percemont.  Henri  had  not 
welcomed  the  idea  of  shutting  himself  up  permanently 
on  this  rock,  for  its  isolation  would  interfere  with  our 
frequent  intercourse  ;  but,  as  it  was  one  of  the  favorite 
goals  for  our  walks,  I  had  several  rooms  cleared  up  and 
furnished,  particularly  an  elegant  dining-room,  where 
the  table  was  set  on  a  carpet  of  rose-leaves  of  different 
colors. 

This  Tower  of  Percemont  was  still  a  source  of  con- 
siderable pleasure  to  my  wife,  who  liked  to  say  to  her 
friends,  with  a  consequential  air  :  "  We  do  not  live  in  it, 
we  prefer  our  own  house;  these  things  are  only  superflu- 
ities with  us."  As  for  myself,  I  pardoned  the  old  donjon 
the  slight  vexations  it  had  caused  me.  In  it  I  had  obtained 
the  greatest  success  of  my  life — a  success  gained  by  per- 
suasion.    It  had  decided  the  happiness  of  my  children, 


THE   TOWER  OF  PERCEMONT.  171 

as  well  as  that  of  poor  little  Leonie,  who  deserved  to  be 
loved — the  sacred  right  of  children. 

All  my  dear  guests  met  there  once  more  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  happiness  that  was  touching  to  behold.  Some 
letters  were  brought  to  rae  at  dessert.  The  first  that  I 
opened  was  one  announcing  the  marriage  of  the  Countess 
Alix  de  Nives  with  M.  Stuarton,  an  Englishman,  hump- 
backed and  rickety,  but  reputed  to  be  worth  millions.  I 
liad  met  him  in  Paris  when  I  was  a  young  man,  and  he 
had  then  reached  maturity.  Our  inconsolable  widow 
had  undertaken  to  take  care  of  him,  with  the  hope  of  in- 
heriting his  fortune  in  a  short  time. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Madame  Ormonde,  in  great  consterna- 
tion, "  she  is  now  richer  than  I  am,  and  she  will  take  Ninie 
away  from  me  !  " 

"  Do  not  be  uneasy,"  I  said  ;  "  that  which  is  good  to 
take  is  good  to  keep.  Madame  Alixwill  soon  be  a  widow, 
and  N'inie  would  be  a  restraint  upon  her  when  seeking 
a  third  husband." 


M  A  R I-A  N  N  E 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Where  can  your  thoughts  be,  Sleeping  Beauty,  as 
you  ride  along  the  groves  on  that  lean  shaggy  horse  of 
yours  ?  I  call  you  Beauty,  yet  you  are  not  really  hand- 
some ;  you  are  t^'">  .  lall  and  pale,  and  you  want  anima- 
tion, there  is  not  ch  '  st  sparkle  in  your  large  dark  eyes. 
But  what  can  be  ti  >ject  of  your  ride,  or  the  subject 
of  your  thoughts,  as  you  pass  along  the  groves  without 
a  suspicion  of  any  one  being  there  to  see  you?  Your 
eyes  look  straight  before  them,  gazing  into  the  distance. 
Maybe  your  thoughts  travel  as  far,  or  maybe  they  slumber, 
centerd  in  self!" 

'  So  soliloquized  Pierre  Andr^,  as  Marianne  Chevreuse, 
after  slowly  descending  the  hill  beneath  the  walnut-trees, 
passed  between  him  and  the  stream,  and  vanished  at  a 
hand  gallop  round  the  rocks,  at  the  bend  of  the  road. 

Marianne  was  a  young  lady  born  in  the  country,  who 
owned  a  good  farm,  yielding  an  income  of  five  thousand 
francs  or  so,  which  represented  a  capital  of  two  hundred 
thousand  in  that  part  of  the  world.     She  was  considered 


174  MARIANNE. 

a  tolerable  match,  yet  she  had  reached  the  age  of  five  and 
twenty  without  marrying.  People  said  she  was  too  fas- 
tidious, and  somewhat  eccentric,  a  failing  far  more  dan- 
gerous than  a  vice  in  the  eyes  of  her  neighbors.  They 
condemned  her  predilection  for  a  hermit  life,  and  could 
not  at  all  understand  how,  when  left  an  orphan  at  the 
age  of  twenty-two,  she  could  have  refused  the  offer  made 
by  her  relations  in  town,  an  uncle  and  two  aunts,  to  say 
nothing  of  three  or  four  cousins,  to  take  her  to  live  with 
them  and  bring  her  out  in  society,  where  she  might  have 
had  the  opportunity  of  making  a  good  match. 

La  Faille-sur-Gouvre  was  not  an  insignificant  town. 
It  had  a  population  of  four  thousand;  about  thirty  middle- 
class  families,  each  worth  from  one  to  three  hundred 
thousand  francs,  besides  some  well  to  do  and  highly  re- 
spectable officials,  in  short,  a  circle,  in  which  an  heiress, 
however  fastidious,  might  find  some  one  to  her  fancy. 
Yet  Marianne  had  preferred  to  live^one  in  the  country 
house,  which  had  been  left  her  by  her  parents,  in  good 
repair  and  comfortably  furnished,  charmingly  situatedin 
an  almost  uninhabited  tract  of  hill  and  woodland  about 
two  miles  out  of  La  Faille  sur-Gouvre. 

This  district,  which  lies  near  the  centre  of  France,  was 
remarkably  quiet  in  character,  especially  fifty  years  ago, 
the  date  of  this  simple  story.  No  gloomy  drama  had  oc- 
curred there  within  the  memory  of  man.  Its  peasantry 
are  peaceful  and  well-disposed :  they  own  their  land,  and 
mutually  respect  each  other's  rights.  And  yet  houses 
are  sparselyr  scattered  over  the  district  inhabited  by  Mari- 
anne and  Pierre  Andr^,  owing  to  the  large  tracts  of 
moorland  and  coppice  which  are  unproductive,  and  belong 
moreover  in  large  lots  to  the  principal  families  of  the 
province. 

Pierre  Andr^  \7as  nearly  forty,  and  had  been  leading 


MARIANNE.  175 

a  retired  country  life  for  the  last  year  only,  not  far  from 
Marianne  Chevreuse,  in  a  modest  cottage,  which  he  had 
been  altering  with  the  intention  of  ending  his  days  there. 
Thus,  while  the  young  lady  seemed  about  to  enter  on  a 
life  of  solitude  and  dreams,  seeking  perhaps  in  the  future 
for  a  solution  which  she  had  not  yet  found,  the  mature 
neighbor,  who  was  her  godfather,  and  had  been  her  early 
friend,  seemed  to  have  severed  every  link  that  bound  him 
to  the  past,  and  to  look  for  notliiiig  but  repose  and  ob- 
livion in  a  retreat  that  suited  his  f;iucy. 

And  yet  Pierre  Andre  had  been  ambitious  like  other 
men.  He  was  intelligent  and  studious,  and  had  felt  equal 
to  anything  in  his  youth.  His  mother  had  been  proud 
of  his  early  progress,  and  was  ready  to  believe  that  he 
might  turn  out  a  great  man.  His  father,  who  was  poor 
and  miserly,  had  consented,  with  much  reluctance,  to  al- 
low him  to  go  and  study  law  at  Paris ;  but  the  poor  fellow 
was  kept  so  short  of  money  that  he  had  led  a  hard  life  of 
privation,  without  seeing  any  hope  of  raising  himself 
above  his  cruel  lot.  He  was  an  excelent  talker,  and  a 
still  better  writer,  but  tormented  with  a  bashfulness  which 
formed  a  complete  obstacle  to  his  appearing  in  public, 
or  becoming  known  beyond  his  immediate  circle  of  friends. 
It  was  useless  for  him  to  think  of  the  bar,  and  as  to  be- 
coming an  attorney  or  notary,  beside  his  horror  of  legal 
quibbles,  he  felt  convinced  that  his  father  would  never 
consent  to  part  with  his  small  estate  to  secure  him  a 
practice.  Even  had  he  been  willing  to  make  this  sacri- 
fice, Pierre  would  not  have  accepted  it,  feeling  that  he 
lacked  that  special  aptitude  which  could  not  assure  his 
repaying  his  parents.  He  completed  his  legal  course  from 
a  sense  of  duty,  and  then  betook  himself  to  other  studies, 
but  pursued  none  sufficiently  closely  to  make  it  remuner- 
ative.    He  was  fond  of  natural  science,  and   mastered  its 


176  MARIANNE. 

principal  elements  withno  object  beyond  the  exercise  of 
liis  intellectual  faculties  and  powers  of  observation.  He 
had  a  gift  for  composition,  and  wrote  a  great  deal,  but 
published  nothing,  fearing  that  his  productions  w^ere  only 
second-rate.  At  length  he  met  with  something  to  suit 
him,  in  an  engagement  as  travelling  tutor  to  two  young 
men  of  good  position. 


CHAPTER  II.  ' 

It  had  been  Pierre's  dream  to  travel.  He  was  a  valu- 
able travelling  companion,  communicating  to  his  pupils 
just  ideas  of  history  and  natural  science  in  an  agreeable 
way.  He  travelled  with  them  all  over  Europe  and  part 
of  Asia,  and  was  recalled  by  their  father's  serious  illness. 
His  recovery  left  him  so  infirm  that  his  sons  were  obliged 
to  take  his  place  at  the  head  of  their  banking-house,  and 
thus  Pierre  Andre's  engagement  came  to  an  end. 

He  was  then  five  and  thirty  and  had  put  by  ten  thou- 
sand francs ;  his  parents  besought  him  to  invest  his  money 
in  land  and  come  and  settle  near  them.  He  spent  some 
weeks  with  them,  but  soon  gi-ew  wearied  of  a  restricted 
life,  quite  foreign  to  his  habits.  He  had  acquired  a  taste 
for  roving,  and  soon  went  off  to  Spain,  which  he  had  not 
fully  explored  ;  thence  he  crossed  to  Africa,  and  when 
he  had  oome  to  the  end  of  his  savings  he  returned  to 
Paris  in  search  of  fresh  employment.  Fortune  did  not 
favor  him ;  he  could  only  hear  of  paltry  posts  in  the 
various  government  offices,  and  was  forced  to  return  to 
the  dull  treadmill  life  he  knew  only  too  well,  working  for 


MARIANNE,  177 

his  livelihood  and  asking  himself  what  was  the  use  of 
living  to  protract  such  a  hard,  monotonous,  colorless  ex- 
istence. 

His  father's  sudden  death,  which  followed  on  a  lin- 
gering illness  presenting  no  alarming  symptoms,  brought 
him  back  to  his  aged  mother  in  the  barren  valleys  ©f  the 
Gouvre. 

The  poor  woman  had  gone  on  cherishing  her  illusions 
respecting  him,  and  was  horrified  to  find  that  he  had 
nothing  to  show  for  so  many  years  of  toil  and  exile,  and 
thought  himself  happy  in  having  contrived  to  exist  on  a 
scanty  income  without  running  into  debt.  She  accused 
Paris,  government,  and  society  in  general,  of  injustice 
and  blindness  in  failing  to  recognize  her  son's  merits. 
He  never  could  make  her  see,  that  to  elbow  one's  way 
through  the  crowd  requires  either  great  interest  or  great 
audacity,  and  that  he  was  deficient  in  the  latter  qualifica- 
tion. His  manner  was  lively,  frank,  and  playful,  but  a 
want  of  self-confidence  lurked  beneath.  He  shrank  from 
the  ridicule  which  is  heaped  on  unsuccessful  ambition, 
and  was  too  proud  to  complain  or  ask  for  assistance. 
He  veiled  his  misery  so  proudly,  that  some  of  his  friends 
never  suspected  his  sufferings  and  failed  to  offer  a  help- 
ing or  soothing  hand,  fancying  that,  thanks  to  his  nat- 
ural moderation  and  philosophic  gayety,  he  was  better  off 
than  themselves. 

Yet  Pierre  had  suffered  keenly,  less  from  the  material 
privations  on  which  his  mind  refused  to  dwell,  than  on 
the  sad  implacable  solitude  which  gathers  round  a  poor 
obscure  man.  His  temperament  was  enthusiastic  and 
artistic,  but  his  feelings  and  inspirations  found  no  outlet. 
He  enjoyed  the  theatre,  but  could  not  afford  to  indulge 
his  taste.  He  was  fond  of  paintings  and  a  good  judge  ; 
but  in  order  to  enter  on  the  requisite  course  of  study, 


178  MARIANNE,  ' 

he  must  liavehad  means  of  subsistence,  and  he  was  forced 
to  earn  his  daily  bread.  He  was  a  passionate  politician 
without  any  medium  for  communicating  his  ideas,  and 
too  much  of  a  sceptic  to  become  the  hanger-on  of  any 
man  or  party.  His  love  had  been  an  intense  but  hopeless 
passion,  devoted  to  superior  beings  exalted  far  above 
him.  For  months  his  enthusiasm  was  lavished  on  Pasta, 
whom  he  had  seen  once  or  twice  on  the  stage,  and  every 
night  that  she  acted,  he  waited  at  the  door  of  the  theatre, 
to  see  her  flit  past.  Then  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Mademoiselle  Mars,  and  dreamed  of  her  voice  and  eyes 
till  he  became  ill  with  desperation. 

In  his  passion  for  these  stars,  he  forgot  to  look  at 
what  came  beneath  his  eyes,  and  when  an  opportunity 
for  a  reasonable  attachment  presented  itself,  said  that 
reason  and  love  were  opposed.  His  enthusiasm  then 
reverted  to  the  grand  scenery  in  which  he  had  once  rev- 
elled, and  he  craved  for  another  sight  of  the  Alps  or 
the  Pyrenees ;  he  asked  himself  why  he  should  not  ac- 
quire the  cynicism  of  the  Bohemian,  or  why  he  should 
cling  to  the  absurd  vanities  of  wearing  clean  linen  and 
looking  well  dressed,  when  it  was  so  easy  to  run  about 
the  world  in  rags  and  hold  out  one's  hand  to  the  passers- 
by  ?  He  envied  the  lot  of  the  vagabond  who  penetrates 
the  desert,  content  to  receive  hospitality  from'  the  savage, 
ready  to  lie  down  artd  sleep  beneath  the  starlit  skv,  and 
happy  if  he  can  but  walk  on  and  see  a  fresh  scene  every 
day. 

In  these  moments  of  disgust  and  weariness,  he  told 
himself  despondingly  that  his  was  a  thoroughly  common- 
place nature,  without  will,  energy,  or  conviction,  inca- 
pable of  the  grand  resolve  which  forces  its  own  way ;  that 
he  was  a  country  boor  who  had  strayed  out  of  bounds, 
capable  of  revelling  in  the  splendors  of  nature  and  art, 


MARIANNE.  179 

but  too  proud  or  too  timid  to  make  a  desperate  plunge, 
and  a  slave  to  public  opinion. 


CHAPTER    in. 


Humiliated  by  his  incapacity  to  acquire  the  means 
of  independence  in  the  heart  of  civilization,  Pierre  had 
returned  to  the  home  of  his  childhood,  glad  to  accept  the 
first  great  duty  devolving  on  him  of  consoling  and  sus- 
taining his  mother's  declining  years.  His  first  wish  was 
to  secure  her  from  the  privations  which  had  fallen  to  his 
own  lot.  It  did  not  take  much  to  feed  and  clothe  the 
good  woman,  but  her  health  was  endangered  by  the  di- 
lapidated state  of  the  house  which  she  had  occupied  for 
fifty  years.  Pierre  had  it  enlarged  and  put  into  repair, 
which  swallowed  up  the  greater  part  of  a  bag  of  old 
coins  found  in  his  father's  desk. 

Dolmor  (for  such  was  the  name  of  the  estate,  dating 
perhaps  from  druidical  times),  was  worth  about  fifty 
thousand  francs.  The  income  yielded  by  this  small  cap- 
ital was  sufficient  in  those  days  to  maintain  a  small  family 
in  the  country  in  tolerable  comfort,  allowing  them  to 
eat  meat  once  or  twice  in  the  week,  while  their  own 
establishment  supplied  them  with  eggs,  vegetables,  and 
some  dairy  produce.  One  man-servant  was  all  that  was 
required,  if  they  kept  a  horse,  for  the  housewife  attended 
herself  to  the  cooking  and  housework,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  the  farmer's  wife.  A  horse  was  an  unusual 
luxury  in  those  days.  The  farmer's  brood  mare  took 
the  family  where  they  needed  to  go,  and  its  keep  was 
part  of  the  working  expenses  of  the  farm.     Nowadays 


180  MARIANNE, 

every  well  to  do  peasant  keeps  a  horse  and  cart.  In 
1825  it  was  a  subject  of  astonishment  to  meet  a  villager 
furnished  with  an  umbrella,  and  the  wife  of  the  small 
proprietor  went  to  town  mounted  on  a  pillion  behind  her 
farmer  or  ploughboy. 

Mademoiselle  Chevreuse  was  much  better  off  than 
Andr^,  but  she  scandalized  the  neighborhood  by  being 
so  bold  as  to  ride  alone  on  horseback,  and  her  side-sad- 
dle was  an  object  of  curiosity  as  she  passed  along  the 
roads.  Her  steed  was  however  very  unpretending,  only 
a  young  mare  bred  in  her  own  meadows  and  taught  to 
follow  her  about  like  a  dog.  Her  farm-bailiff  had  re- 
monstrated when  she  declared  her  intention  of  keeping 
the  animal  for  her  own  use.  She  had  been  obliged  to 
pay  him  half  its  value,  and  this  did  not  prevent  every 
soul  employed  on  the  farm  from  lamenting  over  the 
perils  which  their  young  lady  was  about  to  incur.  The 
mare  was  an  ugly  beast  and  remained  lean  in  spite  of 
every  attention  from  its  mistress ;  it  was  a  true  moor- 
land horse,  spirited  but  steady,  prompt  in  action,  sure- 
footed on  bad  roads,  playful  but  never  vicious,  fearless 
and  docile  to  the  mistress  to  whom  it  was  attached,  but 
not  disposed  to  allow  any  one  else  to  mount  on  its  back. 

Marianne,  in  her  solitary  life,  felt  the  need  of  inter- 
course, were  it  but  for  one  hour  in  the  day,  with  educa,ted 
people.  There  was  some  connection  between  her  family 
and  Pierre's,  and  she  had  kept  up  an  intimacy  with  old 
Madame  Andre.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  going  every 
evening  to  play  draughts  or  chat  with  her  until  her  bed- 
time, which  was  nine  o'clock  at  the  latest.  Then  Mari- 
anne galloped  home  by  herself  in  a  few  minutes,  thanks 
to  Suzon's  quick  steady  paces,  the  mare  knowing  the 
road  too  well  to  stumble  over  a  stone  in  the  darkest 
night. 


MARIANNE.  181 

Pierre  had  known  Marianne  from  her  infancy.  When 
he  was  a  big  schoolboy  and  came  home  for  the  holidays. 
Marianne  was  learning  to  toddle,  and  he  used  to  carry 
her  in  his  arms  or  on  his  back.  Year  by  year  he  had 
found  her  grown  without  losing  his  familiarity  with  her, 
then  his  visits  to  the  country  had  been  at  longer  intervals 
and,  noticing  that  the  little  neighbor's  beauty  was  not 
fulfilling  the  promise  of  her  childhood,  he  fancied  her, 
suffering  from  some  chronic  complaint,  and  was  kind  and 
thoughtful  for  her.  After  this  he  was  not  seen  for  fully 
five  years,  and  when  he  at  length  came  to  settle  abso- 
lutely at  Dolmor,  his  godchild  was  found  at  his  old 
mother's  side,  doing  her  best  to  cheer  her  and  help  hei 
while  awaiting  the  return  of  her  long  looked-for  son. 
Upon  the  latter's  arrival,  Marianne  altered  her  habits, 
and  no  longer  came  every  evening  to  amuse  and  look 
after  the  old  lady ;  the  days  she  chose  for  her  visits  were 
those  when  Pierre  was  absent,  or  when,  absorbed  in  work 
of  some  kind,  he  came  and  asked  her  to  keep  his  mother 
company. 

This  had  gone  on  for  a  year  without  Pierre  ever 
troubhng  his  head  much  about  Marianne.  When  he  came 
into  the  country  he  was  weighed  down  with  two  heavy  " 
burdens,  disgust  with  the  disappointments  of  his  past 
life,  and  fear  of  a  future  which  presented  no  gleam  of 
hope.  He  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that  the  life 
which  had  already  languished  in  abstaining  from  pleasure 
would  become  still  more  insupportable  unless  he  could 
contrive  utterly  to  extinguish  the  very  dream  of  pleasure 
in  the  future.  He  had  determined  to  submit  to  his  fate, 
not  to  fight  against  the  impossible,  to  make  his  expecta- 
tions as  modest  as  his  achievements,  to  try  to  become 
selfish,  or,  at  least,  a  lover  of  ease,  clinging  to  a  secured 
existence,  since  the  only  boon  he  liad  in  pi'ospect  was  an 


182  MARIANNE, 

escape  from  dying  of  starvation  in  a  garret,  or  of  ex- 
haustion in  a  hospital. 

And  yet,  for  the  last  few  days,  Pierre  Andr6  had  been 
suffering  from  a  kind  of  fever.  The  task  of  completing 
his  house  and  garden,  in  which  he  had  been  so  long 
absorbed  and  interested,  had  nearly  come  to  an  end. 
Besides,  he  had  received  a  letter,  which,  for  some  mysteri- 
ous reason,  had  disturbed  his  mind. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  letter  was  from  Monsieur  Jean  Gaucher,  once  a 
tradesman  at  La  Faille-sur-Gouvre,  but  established  for 
the  last  ten  years  in  an  excellent  business  in  Paris. 

"  My  dear  AiTDRE  : 

I  am  about  to  ask  of  you  a  great 
favor,  which  will  probably  only  cost  you  a  few  words. 
You  are  aware  that  my  son  Philip,  who  is  much  more 
volatile  and  less  studious  than  his  younger  brother,  has 
devoted  himself  to  painting,  and  calls  himself  an  artist. 
He  has  some  taste  and  talent,  a  good  heart,  little  judg- 
ment, and  still  less  prudence.  Well,  you  know  what  he 
is  and  like  him  well  enough.  He  ought  to  marry.  He 
has  been  spending  my  money  pretty  freely,  and  is  not  in 
the  way  of  making  any  yet.  Will  he  ever  make  any?  I 
begin  to  doubt  it  ;  but  I  can  settle  a  hundred  thousand 
fraiics  on  him,  and  as  he  is  a  handsome  good-natured 
fellow,  and  comes  of  a  respectable  family  with  an  unsullied 


MARIANNE.  183 

reputation,  he  may  aspire  to  the  hand  of  a  young  lady 
with^wo  hundred  thousand.  Thus  established,  he  might 
live  without  working,  since  that  is  his  wish,  and  amuse 
himself  with  his  painting,  since  his  taste  lies  that  way  ; 
but  the  lady  must  not  expect  too  much,  and  that  sort  of 
girl  is  not  often  found  in  Paris.  A  few  are  still  to  be 
met  with  in  our  good  old  country,  and  I  thought  of  that 
little  Chevreuse,  who  inherits  a  tolerable  fortune  and  has 
been  brought  up  to  a  country  life.  I  knew  her  parents, 
who  were  respectable  people,  and  I  saw  the  girl  herself 
last  year  at  La  Faille.  She  is  no  beauty,  but  still  not 
bad-looking.  Your  last  letter  spoke  of  her  attentions  to 
your  mother,  and  as  she  is  still  unmarried,  she  may  easily 
take  a  fancy  to  my  son. 

"  And  so,  dear  friend,  I  am  sending  my  Philip  down 
to  you  for  a  week.  He  will  be  with  you  by  the  7th.  He 
has  no  aversion  to  marriage,  but  would  not  like  a  plain 
or  ill-educated  woman.  He  will  see  Marianne  Chevreuse 
at  your  house,  and  if  he  does  not  object  to  her,  y^  might 
arrange  the  matter  before  he  leaves  or  directly  after.  I 
rely  on  your  old  friendship,  and  shall  be  glad  to  assist  you 
in  return." 


Why  should  this  plain  mercantile  letter  have  irritated 
Pierre  Andre  so  much  ?  To  begin  with,  he  felt  as  if 
Monsieur  Jean  Gaucher  were  treating  him  very  cavalierly. 
Gaucher  was  wealthy,  and  yet,  in  his  greatest  straits, 
Pierre  had  never  felt  sufficiently  intimate  to  ask  him  for 
the  slightest  assistance.  The  friend  of  his  early  days 
might  perhaps  have  guessed  without  much  difficulty  at 
Pierre's  position  and  offered  him  at  any  rate  some  suitable 
occupation  in  his  house  of  business.  Gaucher  was  a 
practical  man  and  had  taken  care  never  to  let  this  occur 
to   him,   excusing   himself  by   calling   Pierre   a   highly 


184  MARIANNE. 

educated  man  of  good  position,  who  was  sure  to  find 
some  better  opening. 

Thus  Pien-e  was  under  no  obligations  towards  him^ 
and  thought  him  intrusive  in  foisting  upon  him  a  guest 
who  would  probably  show  him  scant  gratitude  for  his 
hospitality  and  make  him  no  amends  by  his  society  for 
his  loss  of  time.  He  knew  but  little  of  the  young  man, 
and  though  he  called  him  by  his  Christian  name  from 
having  known  him  when  a  child,  took  little  interest  in 
him.  He  had  always  thought  his  assurance  outstripped 
his  years.  Beside  all  this,  it  was  three  or  four  years  since 
he  had  set  eyes  (^n  him,  nor  did  he  feel  that  he  knew 
enough  about  him  to  recommend  him  as  a  husband  to  any 
young  girl,  above  all,  to  Marianne,  whom  he  respected 
for  her  irreproachable  character,  and  to  whom  his  affec- 
tions were  drawn  through  sympathy,  gratitude,  and  th^ 
paternal  feeling  which' clings  to  the  title  of  godfather. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  reply  as  follows  : 

"My  deab  Gaucher : 

You  throw  upon  me  a  responsibility 
to  which  I  feel  quite  unequal.  Since  I  have  never  been 
able  to  help  myself,  how  should  I  help  others  in  such  a 
delicate  business  as  matrimony  ?  Besides  your  plan 
seems  to  me  a  doubtful  one.  -You  must  have  forgotten 
that  Mademoiselle  Chevreuse  is  five-and-twenty,  and  will 
probably  think  Philippe  too  young  for  her,  even  if  she 
has  not  abandoned  all  thoughts  of  parting  with  her 
liberty.  To  cross-examine  her  on  such  a  subject  would 
seem  to  me  a  piece  of  j^resumption  unwarranted  by  my 
age—" 

"  You  old  fool,*'  exclaimed  Pierre  Andrd  to  himself  as 
his  pen  paused  ;  "  what  in  the  world  are  you  writing  ? 


MARIANNE.  185 

Gaucher  will  laugh  at  you.  He  is  sixty,  and  fancies 
every  one  else  the  same  age. — And  then  it  is  all  false ! 
Why  should  you  not  speak  to  your  godchild  of  love  and 
marriage  ?  She  will  not  be  vexed  in  the  least  at  your 
troubling  yourself  about  her  happiness,  and  will  reply, 
without  a  blush  or  a  start,  that  she  is  ready  to  see  the 
suitor  in  question.  And  then,  supposing  she  ever  heard 
that  you  had  done  your  best  to  keep  him  at  a  distance, — 
what  would  she  think  of  you  ? — No  I  must  not  send  this 
letter.  I  will  write  that  I  am  obliged  to  leave  home,  and 
must  therefore  beg  the  Gaucher s  to  choose  some  other 
agent." 


CHAPTER  V. 

Pierre  An'dre  tore  up  his  letter,  but  just  afe  he  was 
abont  to  begin  another,  he  remembered  that  it  could  not 
leave  La  Faille-sur-Gouvre  before  the  following  day,  that 
it  would  be  two  days  in  getting  to  Paris,  and  would  not 
be  delivered  until  the  very  day  that  Philippe  was  to  start 
for  La  Faille,  possibly  not  before  he  left  home.  It  was 
too  late  to  send  a  refusal,  M.  Jean  Gaucher  had  evidently 
reckoned  upon  his  consent. 

He  resigned  himself  to  the  situation,  and  strolled  to 
the  banks  of  the  Gouvre,  in  order  to  banish  his  vexation 
by  a  walk  in  the  charming  meadows  watered  by  this 
limpid  stream.  It  was  there  that,  hidden  among  the 
willows  festooned  with  white  con  vol  villus  and  wild  balsam, 
he  saw  Marianne  pass,  as  he   had    often   done   without 


185  MARIANNE. 

experiencing  any  peculiar  emotion.  This  time,  however, 
he  was  disturbed  by  the  sight  of  her,  and  instead  of 
hailing  her  with  a  friendly  greeting,  plunged  into  the 
covert,  and  began  to  question  himself  with  a  touch  of 
bitter  irony. 

His  words  were  a  continuation  of  the  soliloquy  with 
which  our  story  opened,  but  the  soliloquy  was  a  written 
one,  for  Pierre  enjoyed  composition  ;  he  had  always  felt 
the  spirit  of  authorship  seething  within  him  under  the 
form  of  impulses  which  needed  expression  to  make  them 
complete.  These  secret  impulses  had  tyrannized  over  his 
life,  but  not  added  to  its  pleasures,  for  he  generally  sup- 
pressed them  without  putting  them  into  shape.  On  this 
occasion  he  imagined  that  he  should  master  his  agitation 
by  setting  to  work  to  analyze  it. 

He  was  in  the  habit  of  carrying  about  with  him  a 
pocketbook  of  tolerable  size,  which  he  often  made  use  of 
during  his  morning  walk.  He  jotted  down  in  it  remarks 
on  natural  history,  scenery,  and  archaelogy,  of  which  he 
was  very  fond,  and  often  enriched  it  with  the  sketch  of 
some  ruin  or  landscape,  and  as  he  made  no  effort  to  sup- 
press his  love  of  nature  and  art,  often  found  that  his 
descriptions  and  observations  assumed  somewhat  of  ^ 
literary  form. 

"  I  suffer  from  dreaminess,"  said  Pierre  to  himself. 
"  My  fancies  evaporate  like  a  mist  before  the  sun.  It 
does  me  good  to  realize  my  enjoyment  by  expressing  it. 
Then  why  not  attempt  now  to  give  expression  to  my 
sufferings  ?  For  I  am  suffering,  though  from  what  I 
know  not,  and  I  might  go  on  suffering  a  long  while  with- 
out finding  out  the  cause.  Let  me  cast  away  all  vague- 
ness and  ignorance,  and  learn  what  it  really  is  !  If  I  can 
put  it  into  shape,  its  existence  is  proved  ;  if  not,  it  is 
nothing  and  will  soon  pass." 


MARIANNE.  187 

So  saying,  Pierre  had  cut  his  pencil  and  opened  his 
notebook  :  sitting  on  the  grass  in  the  shade  of  the  Avillows 
and  alders,  he  wrote  as  follows  : 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  I  HAVE  been  suffering  from  weariness  for  the  last 
week.  My  hermitage  does  not  realize  my  fair  dreams.  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  it  covered  with  moss  and  hung 
with  vines  and  clematis.  Until  the  creepers  I  have 
planted  are  grown  up,  I  shall  see  nothing  but  staring 
white  walls,  and  bright  new  bricks.  Fortunately  my 
mothers  admires  it  all,  and  looks  forward  to  living  many 
years  in  this  place.  Poor  dear  old  soul !  Long  may  she 
live  to  take  pride  and  pleasure  in  it  while  I  submit  to  the 
terrible  wearisomeness  which  will  probably  mark  me  for 
its  prey ! 

"  Probably,  I  say,  for  who  knows  ? — I  have  long  fan- 
cied that  having  such  a  strong  faculty  for  ambition  and 
regret,  I  should  have  one  for  calmness  and  resignation 
likewise  ;  but  I  have  lost  my  balance  or  perhaps  have 
never  been  rightly  hung.  Am  I  too  old  or  too  young  ? 
Worn  out  or  crushed  ?  What  matter  if  the  result  be  the 
same? 

"  I  seem  rather  to  have  been  consumed.  I  have  been 
half  eaten  by  the  wild  beasts,  and  what  is  left  of  my  heart 
only  serves  to  make  me  feel  how  much  of  it  is  gone.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  these  complaints,  these  vain  cries  ? 
Who  will  ever  hear  them  ?  My  mother  must  be  kept  in 
ignorance,  then  what  heart  can  ever  sympathize  with  my 
wounds  ? 


188  MARIANNE, 

"Marianne — Well,  what  of  Marianne?  She  came 
into  my  head  because  she  is  the  only  person,  beside  my 
mother,  with  whom  I  am  on  terras  of  intimacy ;  but  the 
distance  between  us  is  too  great  for  her  to  play  a  part  in 
my  dreams  ;  we  differ  in  age,  in  experience  and  habits  of 
thought.  And  yet  Marianjae  looks  thoughtful,  but  she 
says  so  little !  Her  face  and  manner  never  give  any  sign 
of  expansion. 

"  I  think  she  is  happy.  There  is  a  surprising  equa- 
nimity in  her  disposition.  Her  health  which  seems  so 
fragile  and  used  to  make  me  so  anxious,  never  fails  her. 
She  never  suffers  from  heat,  cold,  rain,  snow,  long  rides, 
or  midnight  vigils,  ^le  must  have  passed  many  a  night 
by  a  sickbed,  especially  by  my  father's.  My  mother  was 
prostrate  with  fatigue,  but  Marianne  was  always  active 
and  impassive.  She  is  not  very  sensitive,  and  did  not 
weep  when  she  saw  my  mother  in  tears ;  but  she  was 
always  on  the  spot  and  managed  to  keep  up  her  spirits. 
She  is  certainly  kind  and  generous,  faithful  and  cou- 
rageous. 

*'  If  I  were  ten  years  younger  and  a  hundred  thousand 
francs  richer,  I  should  certainly  have  tried  to  induce  her 
to  become  my  wife.  I  should  not  have  fallen  in  lore 
with  her,  at  least  I  think  not,  but  I  should  have  esteemed 
her  highly  and  trusted  her  implicitly,  and  with  this  I 
should  have  been  satisfied. — But  no,  I  could  never  be 
happy  on  such  conditions.  I  have  loved,  and  my  love 
was  passionate,  without  hope  or  power  of  expression. 
Love  is  an  enthusiastic  state  of  delirium,  a  dream  which 
can  exist  only  in  an  impossible  and  violent  state  of  things. 
When  its  ecstasy  and  despair  have  once  been  realized, 
there  is  no  charm  or  virtue  in  peaceful  happy  unions  to 
heal  the  decD  wounds  it  has  left.     Then  why  prepare  un- 


MARIANNE.  189 

happiness  for  a  fine  well-disposed  young  creature  who  is 
incapable  of  these  feelings  ? 

"  As  to  unhappiness — would  Marianne  ever  be  capable 
of  suffering  from  any  fluctuation  in  the  degrees  of  affec- 
tion ? — Yes,  if  she  were  capable  of  loving  passionately, 
but  probably  she  is  not,  A  woman's  life  is  subject  to 
the  storms  of  passion  and  imagination  between  the  age 
of  fifteen  and  twenty-five,  but  Marianne  has  passed 
through  this  crisis  without  uttering  a  word  or  giving  any 
indication  of  feeling.  Her  nature  is  either  cold  or  strong ; 
now  she  is  safe,  she  has  doubled  the  stormy  headland,  she 
is  petrified,  her  tastes  and  habits  are  formed ;  such  are 
the  doubtful  benefits  of  a  country  life  like  that  we  are 
leading,  a  calm  stupor  and  happiness  which  I  myself  long 
to  attain  without  any  immediate  hope  of  it. 

"Must  I  then  suffer  thus  another  ten  long  years  with- 
out a  hope  of  growing  colder  ?  Shall  I  ask  Marianne  to 
teach  me  the  secret  of  her  success  ?  She  would  not  un- 
derstand me,  or  would  fail  to  give  an  answer ;  she  would 
think  it  absurd  of  me  not  to  understand  her,  and  I  am 
absurd,  for  I  don't  understand  her  in  the  least.  Few 
men,  in  fact,  know  or  understand  women.  Those  who 
fascinate  and  refuse  us  remain  a  mystery.  Those  on 
whom  we  can  make  an  impression  lose  their  charm,  and, 
where  our  senses  are  intoxicated,  we  care  little  to  trace 
the  workings  of  the  soul.  In  this  respect,  marriage  is  a 
tomb.  I  rejoice  in  being  too  old  and  poor  to  be  caught 
in  the  trap. 

"  It  just  occurs  to  me  that  I  have  not  been  inspired 
with  one  thought  of  the  least  value  during  the  quarter  of 
an  hour  I  have  been  writing  this.  I  have  read  it  over 
and  cannot  understand  myself,  or  find  the  secret  spring 
of  my  foolish  curiosity  about  Marianne.  I  am  troubled 
and  anxious ;  Marianne  is  serenity  itself.     What  right 


190  MARIANNE, 

has  she  to  flit  by  like  a  reproach  and  sarcasm  without 
divining  my  i)resence  or  conceiving  my  unhappiness? 
She  is  certainly  not  armed,  as  I  ought  to  be,  with  phil- 
osophy and  experienee  ;  she  is  a  child  by  comparison,  no 
struggle  has  tested  her  strength,  no  deception  clouded 
her  spirit. 

"Well,  that  is  the  real  cause  of  her  strength.  She 
has  lost  none  of  her  powers,  she  has  not  fallen  a  prey  to 
the  lions  and  vultures  ;  she  is  intact  and  her  life  com- 
plete ;  feeble  as  the  flame  within  may  be,  it  suffices  her, 
and  what  I  have  left  serves  but  to  consume  me." 


CHAPTER  VIL 

PiEREE  closed  his  book  and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 
He  stood  still  for  some  moments,  watching  the  dragonflies 
as  they  chased  each  other  over  the  rippling  stream.  He 
noticed  the  affinity  existing  between  the  wings  of  these 
handsome  insects  and  the  iridescent  tints  of  the  running 
water.  Then  he  discovered  a  relation  between  the  play 
of  the  wavelets  and  the  graceful  wheeling  of  the  insects' 
flight.  He  took  out  his  book  again,  and  wrote  in  it  some 
rather  pretty  verses,  calling  the  dragonflies  "  daughters 
of  the  stream,"  and  "  spirits  of  the  flowers ;  "  then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  scratched  out  the  lines,  and  strolled 
towards  Dolmor,  feeling  that  his  walk  had  been  devoid  of 
pleasure  or  profit,  but  also  of  fatigue  or  constraint.  It 
was  certainly  far  preferable  to  the  long  rounds  he  had 
often  been  obliged  to  make  on  some  uninteresting  errand 
through  the   heat  and  dust  of  Paris.       In  those  days, 


nfARTANNE.  191 

which  were  not  yet  far  distant,  how  often  had  he  men- 
tally ejaculated  as  he  entered  some  dusty  chambers  or 
gloomy  counting-house :  "  Good  heavens !  give  me  a  tree 
on  the  banks  of  the  Gouvre,  and  leisure  to  watch  the  flow 
of  its  clear  waters.  I  ask  but  little,  and  that  little  is  denied 
me ! "  "I  am  an  ungrateful  fellow,"  said  he,  as  he 
walked  along.  "  Here  I  have  my  wish  gratified,  and  yet 
1  am  not  happy." 

He  reached  the  turn  by  the  rocks,  and  hurried  on 
with  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground, watching  a  fly  or  a  blade 
of  grass  and  telling  himself  that  everywhere,  on  these 
pretty  sandy  paths  bordered  with  purple  heather  and 
spikes  of  broom,  he  might  evolve  a  poem  or  find  a  drama, 
whereas,  on  the  pavements  of  large  cities,  nothing  met 
his  eye  but  mud  and  dirt.  Then  his  thoughts  fled  to  the 
Alps,  and  he  pictured  to  himself  the  snow  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight,  and  the  icy  blue  pinnacles  standing  out  clear 
against  a  rose-tinted  sky, — when  suddenly,  as  he  fancied 
liimself  arrived  at  the  door  of  his  own  cottage,  he  dis- 
covered his  mistake.  At  the  bend  by  the  rocks  he  had 
taken  the  wrong  turn,  and  it  had  brought  him  to  the  gate 
of  Validat,  Marianne's  demesne. 

Validat  was  a  well-ordered  farm  for  that  district  and 
that  epoch,  but  the  manure-heap  lay  surrounded  by  an  un- 
drained  pool,  and  the  farmer's  health  was  invaded  by  the 
denizens  of  the  poultry-yard.  It  was  the  season  when  the 
cattle  had  ended  their  works  in  the  fields,  and  were  not 
yet  turned  out  to  pasture.  The  hay  crops  were  not  yet 
gathered  ;  and  the  poor  animals  were  constrained  to  take 
exercise  in  the  yard,  which  had  been  closed  by  a  hurdle. 
The  only  fastening  to  these  hurdles  is  a  circlet  of  twigs> 
interwoven  and  passed  between  the  first  two  rails,  so  as  to 
hang  on  a  nail  from  a  ploughshare,  driven  into  the  bark 
of  the  old  tree  which  does  duty  as  a  stake.  On  raising  this 


192  '  MARIANNE, 

circlet,  the  long  heavy  hurdle  swings  back  on  its  hinges, 
which  are  fastened  to  some  other  tree  or  stump.  The 
fence  is  a  bank  surmounted  by  a  quick  set  hedge,  or  a 
hedge  of  dried  thorns,  cut  and  stuck  evenly  into  the 
beaten  soil  The  one  surrounding  Validat  was  old  and 
very  pretty,  formed  of  plants  which  had  grown  up  by 
chance  in  the  rich  soil,  black  thorn  and  white  thorn,  elders? 
flowering  brambles,  hazels  and  oak  saplings,  spreading 
out  on  either  hand  a  long  branch  to  interlace  with  the  ad- 
jacent stakes,  while  the  wild  hop  and  briony  festooned 
the  whole.  The  banks  were  covered  with  velvety  moss, 
and  the  little  ditch  was  green  with  watercress,  veronica, 
and  arrowiieads 

Pierre,  finding  that  he  had  lost  his  way,  aud  saying  to 
himself  that  it  was  useless  to  disturb  Marianne  when  he 
had  nothing  of  importance  to  tell  her,  did  not  lift  the  cir- 
clet of  twigs  which  served  as  the  padlock  to  her  gate  but 
retraced  his  steps,  vexed  at  having  been  so  absent- 
minded. 

The  young  lady's  sitting-room,  howerer,  had  certainly 
a  back  door  which  opened  on  the  farmyard,  but  it  faced 
the  contrary  w^ay  and  looked  out  on  the  garden,  which  lay 
to  the  south.  The  master's  dwelling  consisting  of  only 
one  story,  generally  looks  upon  the  farmyard,  the  manure 
heap,  the  laborers  at  their  work,  and  the  cattle  all  which 
he  loves  to  keep  under  constant  surveillance. 

Marianne  had  altered  this  arrangement  and  blocked 
up  the  windows,  merely  reserving  a  door  as  a  medium  of 
prompt  communication  with  her  servants.  She  had 
thrown  out  a  new  window  and  opened  a  glass  door  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  building.  The  dark  wall  of  the  house 
on  that  side  was  enlivened  by  a  large  yellow  jessamine,  a 
scented  clematis  which  twined  into  countless  festoons, 
and  tall  hollyhocks  of  every  color.      She  had  had  the 


MARIANNE.  193 

ground  levelled  for  a  width  of  fifteen  feet,  ana  a  roof  of 
tiles  protected  this  species  of  veranda,  enclosed  by  flowers 
and  shrubs,  from  the  damp,  while  a  shady  walk  led  down 
from  the  centre  of  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  The 
garden  was  not  large,  though  pretty  and  differed  little  from 
that  of  any  well-to-do  peasant  in  the  district ;  there  were 
a  few  plots  of  vegetables,  bordered  with  pinks  and  roses, 
and  edged  with  thyme  and  lavender ;  in  one  corner  grew 
the  old  box-tree  to  furnish  branches  for  Palm  Sunday ; 
beyond  this  the  fine  turf  of  the  orchard  was  thickly  shaded 
by  trees,  and  the  whole  was  surrounded  by  the  usual  vine- 
covered  arbor,  enclosed  by  a  hedge  resembling  that  round 
the  farm-yard  and  a  fence  made  up  with  dry  thorns. 

In  this  quiet  garden  Marianne  Chevreuse  sat  with  her 
book  or  sewing  when  not  engaged  in  household  work.  She 
was  just  walking  under  the  vine-clad  arbor  as  Pierre 
Andre  passed  along  the  road  beneath  on  his  way  back 
to  his  own  house.  Their  eyes  met  with  surprise  on  both 
sides,  and  they  exchanged  greetings  in  some  embarrass- 
ment. Pierre,  only  half  conscious  of  being  ill  at  ease  him- 
self, could  not  understand  why  Marianne  should  be  so, 
and  supposed  the  awkwardness  of  his  salutation  must 
have  infected  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Marianne  asked  Andrd  after  his  motlier.  "  She  is 
qnite  well,"  replied,  he  "  only  longing  for  a  sight  of  you. 
Do  you  know  how  rare  your  visits  have  become  ?  We 
have  seen  nothing  of  our  little  neighbor  for  the  last 
week." 


194  MARIANNE. 

"  You   have  not  been  away  for  a  week,  have  you  ?  " 

"I  have  not  been  away  at  all.  My  journeys  about  my 
garden  and  building  have  come  to  an  end.  It  is  all  done 
now,  and  I  hope  to  stay  with  my  mother  and  give  her  my 
company.  Is  that  any  reason  why  you  should  deprive 
us  of  yours  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  no  great  loss  to  you ;  but  if  Madame 
Andre  misses  me,  I  am  ready  to  come  whenever  she  sends 
for  me." 

"  You  must  come  child  !  My  poor  mother  does  not 
find  it  easy  to  get  beyond  her  garden.  She  can  scarcely 
come  to  see  you,  but  if  you  desert  her  she  will  miss  you." 

"  I  have  no  thoughts  of  deserting  her,  but  I  fancied 
she  preferred  your  society  to  mine,  and  that  if  I  come 
too  often,  I  might  be  in  your  way." 

"In  our  way?  What  an  absurd  idea,  when  you  are 
one  of  us  !  "  As  Marianne  made  no  reply,  Andre  sud- 
denly plunged,  without  intending  into  what  lay  on  his 
mind.  "  Yes,  Marianne,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  you  have 
become  rather  strange  of  late,  and  I  can't  quite  make  you 
out.  May  I  speak  freely  ?  Have  you  time  to  listen  and 
answer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  listening  to  you." 

"  It  is  not  very  convenient  to  have  to  raise  my  voice 
and  talk  to  you  through  the  hedge.     May  I  come  in  ?  '* 

"  If  you  will  go  on  to  the  fence,  I  will  join  you." 

Marianne  ran  forward  and  arrived  first.  She  adroitly 
removed  the  bundle  of  thorns  without  pricking  herself, 
clambered  over  the  fence  and  alighted  on  the  little  green 
pathway,  where  Andre  found  her  ready  to  listen  to  him. 
"You  seem  to  allow  no  intruders  in  your  garden?"  said 
he.     "  I  thought  you  would  have  invited  me  in." 

"  My  garden  is  an  ugly  one,  and  yet  I  am  fond  of  it. 


MARIANNE.  195 

But  you,  with  your  good  taste,  would  laugh  at  it,  and 
then  I  should  feel  annoyed — " 

"  Did  I  not  say  what  a  strange  creature  you  were  ?  '* 

"  I  did  not  know  I  was  ;  you  never  made  the  remark 
before  in  iny  hearing." 

"  To  begin  with,  why  have  you  ceased  to  address  me 
familiarly  since  I  came  home  for  good  ?  Does  my  ad- 
vanced age  inspire  you  with  such  respect." 

"  No.  for  you  are  not  old,  nor  am  I  very  young  now," 

*'  Then  how  is  it  ?  Why  do  you  never  give  a  direct 
answer  to  a  direct  question  ?" 

Marianne  seemed  surprised,  and  looking  close  at 
Andr^,  said  :  "Are  you  in  a  bad  humor  to-day  ?" 

He  was  struck  with  her  glance,  which  was  proud  and 
scrutinizing.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  sucli  a 
look  on  her  faee.  "  You  are  quite  right,  I  am  in  a  bad 
humor,"  replied  he.  "  I  have  an  embarrassing  communi- 
cation to  make,  and  you  give  me  no  assistance." 

"  Embarrassing  ? "  said  Marianne,  looking  at  him 
again  in  some  anxiety.  "  What  embarrassment  can  there 
be  between  us  f  " 

"  You  shall  hear.  Let  us  walk  on,  it  is  too  cool  to 
stand  in  the  shade  after  getting  heated.  Will  you  take 
my  arm!  "  Marianne  put  her  hand  within  Andre's  arm 
without  a  word,  and  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"  Well,"  said  he  abruptly  as  he  resumed  his  walk,  "  I 
will  tell  you  about  it.  Some  one  has  applied  to  me  for 
an  introduction  to  you,  and  I  did  not  think  it  right  to 
give  it  without  your  sanction,  as  I  was  anxious  you  should 
not  be  taken  by  surprise." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  for  I  dislike  surprises. 
This  has  probably  reference  to  an  offer  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  You  know  that  I  have  refused  several  already  ?  " 


196  MARIANNE, 

"  So  my  mother  tells  me.  She  thinks  you  have'made 
up  your  mind  to  remain  single,  is  that  the  case?" 

"  No,  she  is  mistaken.  It  was  only  that  I  objected  to 
the  suitors  who  came  forward." 

"  Did  you  dislike  them  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  I  did  not  care  for  them." 

"  Do  you  think  it  necessary  to  be  in  love  with  the 
man  you  marry  ?  " 

"  Naturally  I  do.     The  one  you  propose " 

"  I  iDropose  no  one,  I  am  a  mere  agent." 

*  And  care  little  whether  he  suits  me  or  not  ?  " 

"  You  will. have  no  difficulty  in  sending  me  about  my 
business,  but  you  cannot  give  an  answer  at  present,  for  the 
person  in  question  is  merely  known  to  you  by  name." 

"Then  my  answer  is  ready.  I  have  no  objection 
to  see  him,  unless  you  tell  me  beforehand  that  he  is  sure 
not  to  suit  me." 

"  Would  you  take  my  word  for  it  ?  " 

"  Why  surely  you  would  not  deceive  me  !  " 

"  Certainly  not !  Well  then,  the  young  man  has  one 
fault,  that  of  being  too  young." 

"  la  he  younger  than  myself  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"And  what  else?  " 

"What  else,  and  what  then? — You  are  summary  m 
your  views,  you  pass  over  the  main  objection." 

"  I  did  not  say  that  I  thought  it  unimportant.  But  I 
should  like  to  know  all." 

"  He  is  poorer  than  yourself  at  present,  but  likely  to 
be  richer  some  day." 

'*  And  what  else  ?  " 

"  What  else  ?  Nothing,  so  far  as  I  know.  I  know 
him  by  sight,  but  barely  more.  I  have  hardly  ever  talked 
to  him." 


MARIANNE.  Wl 

"  What  does  he  look  like  ?  " 

"  He  is  rather  good-looking;  tall  and  well  made,  in- 
deed a  fine-lookinsf  fellow." 

*'  And  what  sort  of  expression  has  he? " 

*'  Well,  a  self-satisfied  expression,  if  I  must  tell  the 
truth." 

"  You  don't  say  a  word  about  the  family  ?  " 

"  They  are  highly  respectable  people,  and  you  can  ob- 
tain full  information  about  them.  They  belong  to  our 
part  of  the  country  and  only  left  it  ten  years  ago." 

"  Why,  you  must  be  speaking  of  one  of  Gaucher's 
sons  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  intended  to  mention  his  name  until  you 
consented  to  be  introduced ;  but  since  you  have  made 
suoh  a  good  guess — " 

"  I  don't  quite  remember — "  said  Marianne  thought- 
fully; "  there  are  two  or  three  of  them." 

"  Only  two.  The  younger  is  the  aspirant  to  your 
hancl." 

**  He  aspires — I  have  some  confused  recollection  of 
him.  He  was  a  child  and  cannot  remember  me.  It  must 
be  my  little  property  that  he  covets — " 

"  The  aspirations  are  scarcely  his,  but  his  father's — 
Stay,  here  is  the  letter  ;  since  you  know  all,  you  may  read 
it." 

Marianne  stood  still  and  read  old  Gaucher's  epistle 
with  her  usual  composure.  Andrd  watched  her  face, 
which  wore  a  faint  smile  at  two  or  three  passages  in  which 
the  tradesman  jDut  the  matrimonial  question  in  a  plain 
commercial  light ;  but  she  was  neither  astonished  nor 
vexed,  and  handed  the  letter  back  saying :  "  Well,  let 
him  come,  and  we  shall  see  I  " 


198  MARIANNE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Pierre  felt  strangely  scornful  and  resumed  his  usual 
tone  of  raillery  as  he  said  :  "  I  see  that  my  mother  was 
completely  mistaken.  You  have  not  the  slightest  incli- 
nation for  a  single  life,  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  must  marry  now  or  never,"  replied  Marianne.  "  If 
I  wait,  I  shall  never  make  up  my  mind." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  .liberty  is  such  a  sweet  and  precious  gift.  If 
we  have  it  too  long,  it  is  hard  to  give  up." 

"  I  agree  with  you  there.  You  had  better  marrj  at 
once,  while  you  have  tlie  inclination.  Then  I  may  calmly 
await  M.  Phillippe  Gaucher's  arrival  without  dreading 
that  he  will  be  badly  received.  He  will  be  with  us  by 
Sunday  morning:  come  and  dine  with  us  that  day.'' 

"  I  Avould  rather  not,  the  first  advances  should  not  be 
on  my  side.  You  and  Madame  Andre  had  better  come 
and  dine  with  me.'" 

"You  know  that  she  cannot  walk  much,  and  would 
never  manage  to  get  home  at  night." 

"  I  have  set  up  a  chaise,  and  my  bailiff's  big  mare 
shall  draw  it.  Your  mother  has  long  promised  to  come 
and  dine  with  me  as  soon  as  I  had  a  carriage." 

"  And  then  you  will  throw  open  the  sanctuary  whicli 
you  refused  to  let  me  enter  to-day  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Madame  Andre  will  be  there  then  !  " 

"  Then  you  consider  me  a  stranger  like  the  rest  of 
the  world  ?     How  droll  you  are !  " 

"  Not  droll  at  all.     In  my  parent's  lifetime  it  was 


MARIANNE.  199 

quite  natural  for  you  to  come  about  the  place,  but  during 
th3  five  years  you  have  been  away,  I  have  become  an 
orohan  and  been  forced  to  live  circumspectly,  jf  I  would 
keep  my  character.  You  know  how  inquisitive  and  tat- 
tling our  neighbors  %re.  In  spite  of  our  living  in  the 
he^rt  of  a  quiet  country  like  ours,  I  could  not  receive 
mo-e  than  one  visit  from  any  man  without  becoming  the 
subject  of  remarks." 

"  But  I  am  so  old,  and  your  godfather,  occupying 
almost  the  position  of  a  father  to  you !  " 

"  That  makes  no  difference.  I  know  the  country,  but 
y)u  have  forgotten  what  it  is  like." 

"  Well,  I  ought  to  wish  you  to  get  married,  that  I 
night  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  more  frequently." 
"  I  did  not  think  it  was  so  great  a  pleasure  to  you." 
"  Or  you  would  not  have  deprived  me  of  it  so  often?  " 
"  You  have  voluntarily  deprived  yourself  of  it  more 
tlan  once." 

"  I  have  certainly  often  taken  advantage  of  your  be- 
inr  with  my  mother  to  finish  some  work  ii^  my  own  room. 
Itwas  not  very  polite,  I  own,  but  I  thought  you  would 
ha'dly  notice  it." 

"  I  was  glad  to  see  that  you  gave  me  credit  for  suf- 
ficent  attachment  not  to  stand  on  ceremony  with  me." 

"  Glad  !  I  would  rather  have  had  you  texed,  or  at 
lest  sorry." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Marianne,  standing  still 
anl  questioning  Andr^  carelessly  with  a  glance  from  her 
da*k  eyes.  The  predominating  expression  on  her  counte- 
naice  was  that  of  expectation,  awaiting  an  explanation 
tosave   herself  the  trouble  of  thinking. 

"  I  seem  to  have  made  a  stupid  speech,  for  I  don't 
kiow  how  to  explain  it,"  said  Pierre  to  himself.  There 
ws  but  one  course  open,  that  of  cuttincf  short  the  con- 


200  MARIANN-E, 

versation.  "  I  don't  mean  to  inflict  a  long  walk  on  you," 
said  he,  releasing  Marianne's  arm.  "  I  forget  that  tie 
nearer  we  are  to  my  house,  the  further  we  are  from  yours. 
ITow  that  we  have  arranged  it  all,  I  have  nothing  more 
to  ask.     I  shall  bring  your  lover  to^ee  you  on  Sundaj." 

"  I  have  no  lover  as  yet,"  returned  Marianne  coldly ; 
"  and  as  to  Sunday,  your  mother  must  consent  to  niske 
one  of  the  party,  otherwise  it  is  quite  impracticaUe. 
I  will  come  and  ask  her  this  evening,  if  you  have  no  o\> 
jection."  ; 

**  I  have  not  the  slightest  objection,"  replied  Andi"^ 
rather  drily,  feeling  really  fretted  and  indignant  at  ha* 
ceremonious  manner.  "  Good-by  till  then  !  "  And  iB 
turned  away  dissatisfied,  almost  vexed. 

**  What  a  cold  nature  hers  is !  "  said  he,  as  he  walked 
along  at  a  quick,  uneven  pace.  "  She  is  narrow-mindei, 
self-conscious,  icy,  anxious  about  the  world's  opinion, a 
prude,  in  fact.  What  could  I  be  thinking  of  when  I 
tortured  myself  just  now  to  sound  the  depths  of  this  caln 
lake  ?  It  has  no  depths ;  it  is  not  a  lake,  but  a  pond  fill 
of  reeds  and  frogs.  See  what  we  grow  into  with  livirg 
in  the.  country !  The  child  was  pretty  and  looked  h- 
teresting,  owing  to  her  pensive  delicate  expression  bf 
face ;  now  she  has  grown  up  into  a  strong  girl,  strongm 
her  prudent  calculations  and  devoid  of  feeling." 


CHAPTER    X. 

**  And  what  does  all  this  signify  to  me  ?  "  said  Pieiie 
to  himself,  as  he  drew  near  his  own  house.  **  My  oottaje 
is  very  pretty  !     I  was  wrong  to  talk  against  it  this  mon- 


MARIANNE.  201 

ing.  The  walls  may  be  too  white,  but  they  turn  quite 
pink  in  the  glow  of  the  evening  sun.  My  creepers  are 
making  fine  shoots  and  will  reach  the  balcony  towards 
the  end  of  the  autumn.  It  is  a  real  pleasure  to  have  a 
home  of  one's  own,  and  enjoy  perfect  liberty.  Why 
should  I  blame  my  quiet  godchild  for  thinking  of  herself 
when  my  own  aspirations  for  life  in  the  future  are  con- 
fined to  the  pleasure  of  breathing  ?  " 

''  Come  in  at  once,  child !  "  cried  Madame  Andre, 
from  the  dining-room.  "  It  is  half-past  five,  and  your 
soup  is  growing  cold." 

"  And  I  am  keeping  you  waiting?  "  returned  Pierre, 
as  he  unburthened  himself  of  his  satchel,  which  was  filled 
with  stones  and  flowers.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  it  was  so 
late  !  "  He  sat  down  to  table  as  soon  as  he  had  washed 
his  hands  at  the  little  blue  porcelain  cistern  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  feeling  obliged  to  prepare  his  mother  for  Mari- 
anne's visit,  gave  a  full  account  of  the  affair  before  they 
dined. 

Madame  Andi6  listened  quietly  till  he  mentioned  Mari- 
anne's readiness  to  comply  with  his  request  for  the  in- 
terview. At  this  point  she  became  incredulous.  "  You 
are  either  romancing,  or  Marianne  was  making  fun  of 
you,'^  said  she.  "  Marianne  does  not  intend  to  marry, 
she  has  told  me  so  again  and  again." 

"  Well,  she  has  either  forgotten  it,  for  she  avers  the 
contrary,  or  else  she  has  changed  her  mind.  Fickle  as 
her  sex !  But  what  is  the  matter,  dear  mother  ?  Are 
you  crying  ?  '* 

'*  I  may  be,  I  don't  know  ? "  replied  the  good  lady, 
wiping  away  with  her  napkin  two  large  tears  which  had 
rolled  unconsciously  down  her  cheeks.  "  My  heart  is 
full,  and  it  would  not  take  much  to  make  me  cry." 

**  Then  let  us  talk  of  something  else,     I  don't  want  to 


202  MARIANNE, 

spoil  your  appetite.  You  are  very  fond  of  Marianne,  I 
know,  mother,  and  she  seems  worthy  of  your  affection, 
but  she  is  not  so  totally  different  from  the  rest  of  the 
world  as  you  may  think  her.  She  has  longed  for  love 
and  family  ties  like  other  girls  ;  you  do  not  surely  expect 
her  to  give  this  up  for  the  pleasure  of  playing  draughts 
and  picking  up  your  knitting  stitches  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter?  She  has  some  thought  for  herself  like  all  of  us, 
and  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  it.'! 

"  And  you  think  it  is  selfishness  that  makes  me  vexed 
with  her  determination?  After  all,  perhaps  you  are 
right.  I  own  my  fault,  and  will  not  vvear  a  sad  face. 
Let  her  come,  and  she  shall  find  me  as  calm  as  yourself, 
and  in  just  as  good  spirits.  ' 

"  As  mine  ?  "  said  Andre,  surprised  at  his  mother's 
steady  gaze  ;  "  why  should  I  be  disturbed  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  might  have  been  rather  troubled. 

"  You  never  thought,  I  hope,  of  my  falling  in  love 
with  Marianne  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  done  so,  I  should  have  seen  no  objection," 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  ?  Come,  confess,  now, 
dear  mother,  you  wanted  me  to  be  married  to  your  little 
pet !     How  was  it  you  never  told  me  a  word  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  many  a  word,  but  you  would  never  listen 
to  me." 

*'  When  was  that  ?  For  I  declare  I  have  not  the 
faintest  recollection  of  it." 

*'  A  long  while  ago,  six  years  now.  It  was  the  last 
time  you  came  to  see  us  before  your  poor  father  died,  you 
had  a  little  money  then,  and  we  wanted  you  to  marry  that 
we  might  keep  you  in  the  country.  Marianne  w^as  just 
twenty,  not  an  orphan,  and  rich  and  independent  as  she 
is  now.     The  marriage  might  have  been  possible  then." 

"  More  than  it  is  now,"  rejoined,  Pierre,  with  the  live- 


MARIANNE.  203 

liest  emotion.  "  I  am  older  and  poorer  than  I  was,  and 
should  be  no  match  for  her.  Pray,  dear  mother,  never 
expose  me  to  the  humiliation  of  being  refused  by  such  a 
cautious  and  disdainful  person  ;  never  mention  me  to  her. 
I  hope  you  never  have  done  ?  " 

''  Yes,  occasionally." 

**  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

*'  N'othing.  Marianne  never  makes  any  reply  when 
ner  reply  might  implicate  her." 

"  Quite  true,  it  is  what  I  have  noticed.  Her  prudence 
is  perfectly  horrible  to  me.  I  can  understand  a  woman 
of  the  world  who  is  ready  to  make  advances,  a  coquette, 
and  deceiver, — her  motives  are  evident,  she  wishes  to 
surround  herself  with  adorers  ;  but  a  country  girl  who 
looks  for  a  disinterested  husband,  and  is  so  different  in 
her  ways,  seems  to  me  an  iceberg  which  nothing  can  melt." 

"  Hush,  here  she  comes,"  said  Madame  Andr6,  who 
had  noticed  her  son's  air  of  chagrin.  "  Don't  let  us  look 
as  if  we  were  sitting  in  judgment  upon  her." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Having  finished  dinner,  they  went  out  to  meet  Mari- 
anne, who  galloppd  quietly  up  on  Suzon,  and  jumped 
down  from  her  saddle  almost  without  drawing  rein.  The 
docile  animal  seemed  to  divine  her  intentions  and  stopped 
short,  then  walked  slowly  behind  her  till  they  reached 
the  cottage,  where  she  turned  to  the  left,  going  by  her- 
self to  her  accustomed  quarters,  a  familiar  corner  of  the 
barn  which  she  shared  with  the  ass  kept  on  the  farm. 


204  MARIANNE. 

Marianne's  riding  costume  consisted  merely  of  a  white 
cambric  bodice,  a  chip  hat,  and  a  long  striped  blue  and 
gray  skirt,  which  her  deft  lingers  caught  up  gracefully  in 
a  minute,  by  means  of  a  leather  belt.  Her  hair  was 
cropped  short,  and  curled  like  a  child's  which,  added  to 
her  short  and  slender  figure,  made  her  look  like  a  girl  of 
fourteen  or  fifteen.  Her  complexion  Was  a  dead  white, 
slightly  tinted  round  the  eye  and  on  the  neck,  but  neither 
tanned  nor  freckled.  She  had  delicate  features  and  splen- 
did teeth,  and  might  have  been  pretty,  had  she  ever 
thought  of  her  charms,  or  believed  in  them. 

"  Well,"  said  Madame  Andr6  as  she  kissed  her,  "  we 
know  what  brings  you  here,  darling.  You  have  made  up 
your  mind  to  be  married." 

''Not  so,  Madame  Andre,"  returned  Marianne,  "my 
mind  is  not  made  up  yet." 

"  Oh  yes,  for  you  have  a  wish  to  see  your  suitor,  which 
shows  that  you  mean  to  accept  him,  if  he  takes  your 
fancy." 

"  That's  a  question.  It  will  do  no  harm  to  look,  as 
they  tell  us  in  the  shops.  Will  you  promise  to  bring  him 
up  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  I  will,  darling,  for  I  can  refuse  you  nothing." 

"  I  will  leave  you  to  discuss  this  weighty  matter,"  said 
Pierre  Andrd,  turning  away  towards  the  fields.  "  Wo- 
men always  have  their  little  secrets  on  these  interesting 
occasions,  and  I  shall  be  quite  in  the  way." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Marianne.  "  I  have  no  confi- 
dences to  make,  and  do  not  intend  to  feel  much  interest 
until  I  hear  from  your  mother  and  yourself  what  I  ought 
to  think  of  the  person  in  question." 

"  What !  you  would  wait  to  hear  our  opinion  before 
deciding?  " 

'•  Certainly." 


MARIANNE.  205 

•*  I  could  not  undertake  so  grare  a  responsibility,"  re- 
sumed Andr^  drily  :  ".  I  know  nothing  about  husbands, 
and  think  you  must  be  laughing  at  us  if  you  pretend  to 
know  nothing  about  them  either." 

"  And  how  should  I  know  anything  about  them  ?  "  said 
Marianne,  opening  her  .eyes  with  amazement. 

"  You  must  surely  know  why  you  have  refused  all 
your  former  offers.  So  you  must  have  an  idea  of  what 
you  want,  and  what  would  make  you  accept  this  new  sui- 
tor." 

"Or  any  other!"  ejaculated  Marianne  with  a  faint 
smile.     "  Don't  go  away,  I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

*'  Really  ?  Probably  you  want  to  know  what  sort  of 
husband  would  suit  you?  "  They  all  sat  down  on  a  bench, 
JJJ^adame  Andre  between  the  two  others. 

"  Ko,"  returned  Marianne,  "  you  don't  know,  for  you 
have  never  considered  the  subject,  or  else  you  would 
never  give  me  a  serious  answer,  for  you  don't  take  much 
interest  in  my  prospects.  The  question  I  wanted  to  put 
is  but  remotely  connected  with  marriage.  I  wanted  to 
know  whether  a  girl  in  my  position  could  educate  herself 
without  changing  her  home  or  mode  of  life." 

"  What  a  singular  question !  "  said  Pierre,  turning  to 
his  mother ;  *'  do  you  understand  what  she  is  driving 
at?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do,"  replied  Madame  Andre,  "  nor  is 
it  the  first  time  that  Marianne  has  troubled  herself  with 
such  ideas.  I  have  no  answer  to  give.  I  learnt  all  that 
was  taught  me  as  a  child,  and  it  was  enough  for  my  sta- 
tion in  this  country  place,  but  I  don't  know  much,  and 
there  are  many  things  I  can  never  talk  of,  for  I  don't  un- 
derstand them  in  the  least.  The  only  course  open  to  a 
woman  so  placed,  is  to  ask  no  questions,  lest  she  should 
expose  her  ignorance.     Marianne  is  not  satisfied   with 


206  MARTAI^NE. 

having  tact  and  knowing  all  that  is  necessary  in  domes- 
tic life,  she  would  like  to  be  able  to  converse  with  well- 
educated  people  on  any  subject." 

"  Excuse  me,  Madame  Andr^,"  put  in  Marianne,  "  but 
I  wish  for  information  on  my  own  account,  rather  than 
on  that  of  others.  I  see,  for  instance,  how  happy  my 
godfather  is  in  walking  about  by  himself  all  the  day  long 
thinking  over  all  he  knows,  and  I  should  like  to  know 
whether  he  is  happier  than  myself,  who  walkabout,  know- 
ing nothing,  and  thinking  of  nothing." 

"  There,"  cried  Andr6  in  surprise.  "  you  are  touching 
a  spring  which  I  could  never  find  when  I  tried  to  dis- 
cover the  secret  pleasures  of  reverie  !  " 

*'  What,  have  you  ever  tried  to  find  out  whether  there 
was  anything  in  my  brain  ?"  « 

"  I  had  not  the  slightest  thought  of  applying  my  re- 
mark especially  to  you,  dear  child  ;  but  I  have  asked  ray- 
self  a  thousand  times  the  question  you  ask  now.  Often, 
when  watching  the  deep  look  of  contemplation  worn  by 
some  peasants,  the  exuberant  joy  of  some  children,  the  ap- 
parently ecstatic  rapture  of  singing  birds,  or  the  exquis- 
ite repose  of  flowers  in  the  moonlight,  I  have  asked  my- 
self whether  the  knowledge  of  nature  is  a  benefit,  or 
whether  reflection  does  not  rob  reverie  of  its  greatest 
charm,  and  sensation  of  its  greatest  power.  Forgive  me 
for  talking  like  a  pedant,  I  must  seem  to  be  using  ridicu- 
lous expressions.  To  resume,  I  must  own  that  I  have 
never  found  an  answer  to  my  question,  and  you  might 
do  much  to  throw  light  on  the  subject,  if  you  would  take 
the  trouble  to  converse  occasionally  on  other  subjects 
than  washing  at  home,  or  the  market'  price  of  poultry." 

*'  I  can  only  talk  about  what  I  understand,  and  can't 
find  words  to  express  what  I  think.  I  'should  have  to 
take  time  and  consider.  Wait  a  moment,  and  I  will  try  !  " 


MARIANNE,  207 


CHAPTER    XII. 

The  two  remained  silent  for  several  moments. 
Marianne  appeared  to  be  engaged  on  some  difficult  sum 
in  mental  arithmetic.  Madame  Andr^  showed  no  surprise 
at  her  feeble  powers.  Pierre  alone  was  a  prey  to  mental 
agitation.  He  had  apparently  taken  the  solution  of  the 
problem  he  had  that  morning  propounded,  as  to  whether 
Marianne's  faculties  were  dormant  or  non-existent,  much 
to  heart. 

At  length  she  broke  the  silence  rather  impatiently. 
*'  Ko,  I  can't  explain  myself,"  said  she.  "  I  must  do  it 
some  other  time.  Besides,  I  did  not  come  to  ask  you 
whether  education  made  people  happy  or  unhappy ;  all 
that  I  wanted  to  know  was  whether  I  could  educate  my- 
self without  leaving  home." 

"  You  may  educate  yourself  anywhere,"  replied 
Pierre,  "  if  you  have  books,  and  you  have  the  means  of 
of  procuring  them." 

"  But  then  I  must  know  what  books,  and  I  reckoned 
upon  your  telling  me  this." 

"  That  will  be  easy  enough,  as  soon  as  I  learn  what 
you  know  and  what  you  don't  know.  Your  father  was 
an  educated  man,  and  had  some  standard  works.  He 
often  told  me  that  you  were  idle  and  averse  to  study. 
Seeing  that  you  were  delicate,  he  did  not  make  any  point 
of  diverting  you  from  the  rural  occupations  for  which  you 
showed  such  a  decided  preference." 

"  As  I  have  always  done/'  replied  Marianne.    "  So 


208  MARIANNE, 

long  as  I  am  in  the  open  air,  and  moving  about  while  I 
think,  I  am  all  right.  But  if  I  sit  down  and  reflect,  I 
feel  as  if  I  should  die." 

"Then  you  must  remain  as  you  are,  my  child,  and 
continue  to  lead  the  same  sort  of  life.  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  seek  for  fresh  occupations  when  marriage  will 
provide  you  with  so  many  of  importance." 

^'•If  I  marry !  "  pursued  Marianne.  "  But  if  I  do  not, 
I  must  provide  myself  with  occupation  against  the  time 
when  I  am  no  longer  able  to  be  always  out  of  doors.  But 
the  sun  has  set  now  ;  would  you  like  your  game,  Madame 
Andre  ?  " 

Madame  Andr^  accepted  the  offer,  and  Pierre,  who 
was  irritated  by  every  kind  of  game,  remained  in  the 
garden,  walking  on  the  terrace  and  looking  at  Marianne 
as  she  played  draughts  with  his  mother  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  the  small  lamp  with  its  green  shade  cast  a  faint 
light  upon  her,  showing  her  as  attentive  to  the  game,  as 
unconscious  and  impassive  as  ever. 

"  Who  knows,"  said  Pierre  to  himself,  "  whether  her 
faculties  may  not  have  been  blunted  by  her  peculiar  nerv- 
ous condition  ?  Many  talented  young  people  come  to 
nothing,  for  lack  of  the  physical  vigor  necessary  for  in- 
tellectual exertion.  No  one  pays  attention  to  these 
things  in  women,  they  choose  some  other  course,  and 
other  results  follow.  It  is  but  rarely  that  they  are 
required  to  create  for  themselves  any  position  demanding 
great  mental  effort,  or  constant  assiduity  in  study.  How 
is  it  that  Marianne  torments  herself  about  becoming  an 
exception?  Would  she  experience,  like  me,  the  secret 
chagrin  of  never  making  a  proper  use  of  her  gifts  ?  This 
is  not  a  feminine  ailment.  A  woman's  life  has  other 
aims.  It  is  fame  and  happiness  enough  for  her  to  be  a 
wife  and  mother.** 


MARIANNE  209 

When  nine  o'clock  arrived,  Marianne  kissed  Madame 
Andre,  gave  her  hand  to  her  godfather,  and  vaulted 
lightly  upon  Suzon,  who  had  been  taught  to  stretch  out 
all  her  legs  so  as  to  make  her  back  lower.  The  rider  and 
her  steed  were  both  so  light,  that  the  sound  of  the  horse's 
hoofs  were  scarcely  heard  on  the  sand,  and  soon  became 
lost  in  the  stillness  of  the  night.  The  air  was  warm  and 
laden  with  odors.  Pierre  stood  for  some  time  motionless 
by  the  garden-fence,  following  Marianne  in  imagination, 
crossing  the  little  beech  grove  and  balmy  heath,  and  the 
clear  stream  strewn  with  blocks  of  dark  stone.  He 
fancied  himself  gazing  on  nature  with  her  eyes,  and 
amused  himself  with  attributing  to  her  secret  emotions^ 
which  had  possibly  no  existence. 

The  following  day  was  a  Saturday,  market-day  at  La 
Faille.  Every  one  who  lives  in  the  country,  be  he  peasant 
or  proprietor,  goes  to  market,  even  when  he  has  nothing 
to  buy  or  sell.  It  is  a  place  of  gathering  where  they  are 
sure  to  meet  any  one  from  the  neighborhood  that  they 
may  be  wanting  to  see'.  There,  too,  news  is  exchanged, 
and  the  rate  of  provisions  fixed.  Pierre  went  in  order  to 
read  the  papers ;  once  a  week  he  learned  what  was  going 
on  in  the  world,  and  considered  this  enough  for  a  man 
who  wished  to  keep  aloof  from  active  life. 

Passing  in  front  of  the  hotel — the  "  Chene-Yerte" — just 
as  the  chaise  drove  up  which  came  to  meet  the  country 
diligences,  he  saw  a  fine  young  man  alight,  and  rush  up 
to  him,  crying,  "  Here  I  am ! "  as  he  embraced  him  with 
cordial  familiarity.  This  fine  young  man,  who  looked  as 
strong  as  Hercules,  and  as  fresh  as  a  rose,  and  dressed  in 
the  latest  fashion  in  an  elegant  travelling  costume,  was  ^ 
Pliilippe  Gaucher,  arrived  a  day  before  his  time.  "  Yes, 
my  dear  fellow,"  repeated  he,  thinking  from  Andrd's  air 


210  MARIANNE. 

of  stupefaction  that  he  failed  to  recognize  him,  "  Here  I 
am,  Philippe — " 

Pierre  interrupted  him.  "  I  know  perfectly  well  who 
you  are,"  said  he,  lowering  his  voice,  *'  but  it  is  of  no  use 
proclaiming  your  name  on  the  house-tops ;  the  business 
that  brings  you  here  will  never  be  accomplished  without 
prudence.  You  must  learn,  my  young  Parisian,  that  the 
first  element  of  failure  in  the  country  is  to  reveal  your 
plans.  Come,  and  I  will  take  you  home  without  going 
through  the  town.  We  will  turn  down  this  half  rural 
lane,  and  be  there  in  the  time  for  dinner  in  less  than  an 
hour." 

"  Nearly  an  hour's  walk  with  my  portmanteau  in  my 
hand  ?  "  said  Philippe,  astonished  at  the  proposition. 

"  Is  it  heavy,"  asked  Pierre,  lifting  it ;  "  no,  it  is  no 
weight  at  all." 

"  But  I  have  other  luggage.  I  have  brought  all  my 
painting  paraphernalia,  for  I  mean  to  make  some  sketches." 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  the  hotel,  and  order  a  man  to  bring 
it  all  up  to  my  house ;  I  have  no  sort  of  conveyance  to 
offer  you  ;  my  legs  serve  me,  and  I  am  all  the  better  for 
the  exercise." 

"  And  I,  as  a  landscape  painter,  know  hiow  to  use  mine 
and  I  can  carry  a  well-furnished  sketching  apparatus  on 
my  back.  You  shall  see  me  do  it  to-morrow,  but  for  the 
present  I  prefer  the  man  and  the  barrow." 

"  Wait  for  me  here,"  said  Pierre.  He  went  inside  to 
give  the  necessary  orders,  and  within  five  minutes  re- 
joined his  guest,  and  off  they  started. 

Philippe's  first  words  startled  Andr^  somewhat. 
"  Have  you  many  good-looking  women  in  the  neighbor- 
hood ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Open  your  eyes  and  you  Avill  see,"  replied  Pierre, 
laughing. 


MARIANNE,  211 

"  I  always  keep  them   open,"    returned    the   young 
artist,  "  it  is  a  part  of  my  profession,  and  I  have  just 
seen  a  droll   little   creature  pass   by   on   horseback,  the 
horse  trotting  like  a  mouse." 

"  Unattended  ?  "  said  Andre,  rather  excited. 

"  Quite  unattended — on  a  little  iron-gray  horse,  with 
black  mane  and  tail." 

Pierre  professed  not  to  know  who  it  could  be,  though 
he  felt  secretly  convinced  as  to  the  identity 

"  And  you  say  that  she  is  pretty  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  so,  lest  I  should  be  mistaken,  for  she 
passed  so  quickly  ; — but  she  looked  perfectly  charming," 

*'  She  is  not  considered  pretty,  and  has  no  pretensions 
to  beauty." 

"  Then  you  know  who  she  is?  " 

"  I  think  I  do.     You  say  she  is  little  ?  " 

"  And  as  slender  as  a  spindle,  but  very  graceful ;  her 
hair  is  very  dark  and  curly,  she  looks  pale  and  interest- 
ing, and  has  fine  large  eyes." 

"  In  short,  you  admire  her  ?  " 

"  So  far  I  do.     But  what,  it  can  never  be —  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  is — the  very  young  person  -whom  your 
father  wishes  you  to  marry." 

"  Mademoiselle  Chevreuse  ?  Only  fancy !  And  I 
chance  upon  her  at  once  ?  Does  she  know  why  I  am 
coming  ?  " 

"  She  knows  nothing,"  said  Pierre  curtly,  ''  nor  did  I 
expect  you  till  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Just  so.  I  set  out  a  day  sooner  in  order  not  to 
travel  through  the  country  by  night.  An  artist  wants  to 
see  everything  !  And  then  I  wished  to  form  some  idea 
of  my  native  country,  for  I  was  born  at  La  Faille,  like 
yourself,  my  dear  fellow,  but  I  have  lost  all  recollection 
of  those  early  days.     As  to  the  town,  it  is  hideous  so  far 


212  MARIANNE. 

as  I  have  seen  it,  but  the^  surrounding  country  is  pretty, 
and  liere  We  ha¥.€  a  pleasant  green  lane  before  us,  and  a 
blue  sky  at  the  end  of  the  vista — this  is  charming.  One 
gets  accustomed  to  these  big  spreading  walnut  trees,  and 
your  mutilated  pollard  elms  frame  an  amusing  contrast. 
I  could  be  happy  enough  here,  and  shall  have  no  objec- 
tion to  spend  the  summer  in  this  country,  if  my  wife 
wishes  it." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  your  wife  ? "  said  Andre, 
casting  a  glance  of  haughty  irritation  at  the  young 
artist  in  spite  of  himself. 

**  Well,  Mademoiselle  Chevreuse,  or  some  one  else, 
answered  Philippe,  quite  undisturbed.  "Here  you  see 
me,  come  down  into  this  country  with  injunctions  from  my 
father  to  find  a  wife,  and  promise  of  a  settled  income,  if  I 
obey.  I  am  tired  of  living  with  him,  he  is  a  good  enough 
sort  of  man,  you  know,  but  I  find  him  rather  a  bore.  We 
have  not  the  same  tastes.  He  will  leave  off  worrying 
and  quarrelling  with  my  artistic  tendencies  as  soon  as  I 
double  my  income  by  marrying.  So,  here  goes  for  mar- 
riage, since  marrying  and  painting  are  one  and  the  same 
in  his  eyes  !*" 

"  And  for  the  sake  of  the  art  you  love,  would  you 
love  the  woman,  whoever  she  might  be  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  would  be  indulgent  and  not  require  her  to 
be  a  model  of  wit  or  beauty.  As  to  temper,  she  must 
have  a  very  bad  one  if  she  could  not  get  6n  with  me.  I 
am  the  best  natured  fellow  in  the  world,  always  in  good 
spirits,  fond  of  light  and  liberty,  and  ready  to  laugh  at 
anything — but  stay,  here  is  the  same  lady  on  horseback 
before  us.  Is  it  not  Mademoiselle  Chevreuse  ?  Let  us 
quicken  our  pace  that  I  may  take  a  good  look  at  her." 


U 

MARIANNE  '^^TVB   21S 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Marianne  had  indeed  stopped,  or  rather  slackened 
Suzon's  pace  to  a  walk,  in  order  to  speak  to  Marichette, 
the  farmer's  wife,  whom  she  had  overtaken  not  far  from 
Dolmor. 

Marichette  was  seated  on  some  sacks  of  hay  in  the 
hind  part  of  a  long  cart  drawn  by  oxen,  while  her  hus- 
band walked  by  its  side,  urging  them  on  with  a  goad. 
The  lane  was  too  narrow  to  allow  a  horse,  or  even  a  foot- 
passenger,  to  go  between  the  wheel  and  the  hedge.  The 
oxen  went  slowly,  Suzon  sniffed  the  hay  which  had  been 
brought  for  her,  and  knowing  whom  she  had  to  deal 
with,  had  thrust  in  her  nose  till  it  touched  the  woman's 
knees ;  the  latter  stroked  the  animal's  forehead  as  she 
gave  her  mistress  an  account  of  the  fat  sheep  she  had 
sold,  and  the  pigs  she  had  priced,  which  were  all  too  dear 
if  they  were  worth  anything. 

During  the  course  of  this  dialogue,  Marianne  left 
Suzon  to  her  own  devices,  and,  throwing  the  bridle  over 
her  arm,  assumed  the  careless  attitude  of  fatigue  or  medi- 
tation. Catching  sight  of  a  beautiful  spray  of  honey- 
suckle in  the  thicket,  she  suddenly  urged  Suzon  forward 
witli  a  touch  of  her  heel  instead  of  pulling  the  bridle, 
and  stretched  out  both  arms  to  gather  the  spray. 

But  at  this  juncture,  Philippe,  who,  leaving  Andre  a 
little  behind,  had  come  up  unobserved,  darted  towards 
the  honeysuckle,  broke  off  the  spray,  and  presented  it  to 
Marianne  with  the  bold  easy  courtesy  o^  a  Parisian. 

On  seeing  this  handsome  stranger,  with  his  ardent 
gaze  and  promising  smile,  Marianne  did  not  fail  to  recog 


214  MARIANNE. 

nize  her  intending  suitor.  N"o  one  in  her  own  neighbor- 
hood would  have  showed  such  ready  gallantry.  She 
blushed  slightly,  but  recovered  her  composure  promptly, 
and  said  with  a  faint  smile,  not  accepting  the  proffered 
spray :  "  Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  was  not  wanting  it  for 
myself;  it  was  for  my  horse,  who  likes  to  eat  it." 

'-'■  Well,"  returned  the  artist  readily,  "  then  I  will  offer 
it  to  your  horse,  who  is  sure  not  to  decline  it."  So  say- 
ing, he  held  out  the  honeysuckle  to  Suzon,  who  munched 
it  without  the  slightest  ceremony. 

Philippe  made  his  finest  bow,  raising  his  hat  very 
high,  and  holding  it  above  his  head,  as  if  he  were  hailing 
a  sovereign  or  some  popular  character.  Marianne  had 
gathered  up  the  reins,  and  bowing  slightly  without  look- 
ing at  Philippe,  she  urged  Snizon  into  the  ditch,  which 
took  her  up  to  the  knees,  and  thus  skilfully  avoiding  the 
huge  cart  wheels  and  the  long  horns  of  the  oxen  vanished 
at  a  gallop  round  the  corner. 

Pierre  was  pleased  with  Marianne's  well  managed 
exit.  The  slightest  accident  would  have  made  Philippe 
master  of  the  situation.  ^'  Well,"  said  he  to  the  artist, 
disguising  a  sarcastic  laugh,  "  have  you  had  a  good  view 
of  her  ?  " 

"She  is  charming,"  replied  Philippe,  "so  lady-like, 
besides  being  witty  and  self-possessed,  in  fact,  quite  the 
coquette.  She  is  the  very  picture  of  a  woman.  But 
what  can  be  her  age  ?  My  father  called  her  older  than 
I  am,  he  must  have  been  jesting,  she  looks  like  a  school- 
girl." 

"  She  is  five  and  twenty." 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  I  can  swear  to  it.  She  has  no  wish  to  conceal  her 
age." 

"  Well,  it  is  all  the  same  to  me,  people   are   never 


MARIANNE.  215 

older  than  they  look.  I,  who  am  already  as  bearded  as 
a  Turk,  might  pass  for  as  much  more  than  my  age  as  she 
might  for  less  than  hers  ;  we  might  be  painted  together 
as  some  classical  subject,  '  Strength  and  Grace,'  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort." 

"  Then  you  have  made  up  your  mind  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.     I  am  quite  in  love  with  her." 

"  And  you  have  no  doubts  as  to  your  success  ?  " 

"  N'ot  the  least." 

*'  You  are  fortunate  in  possessing  so  much  self-confi- 
dence." 

"  My  dear  Andr^,  my  confidence  rests  on  two  things, 
my  youth  and  my  love.  These  are  two  grand  powers; 
love  is  felt  and  communicated,  and  youth  inspires  us 
with  nerve  to  dare  and  give  vent  to  our  feelings.  There 
is  no  vanity  in  calling  oneself  young  or  in  love." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Pierre,  looking  sad  and  de- 
jected. "  Vanity  is  only  ridiculous  in  those  who  have 
lost  the  freshness  of  inexperience  and  the  ingenuity  of 
first  impulses." 

They  had  reached  a  part  where  the  road  widened, 
allowing  them  to  pass  the  cart,  and  were  drawing  near 
Pierre  Andre's  cottage.  Further  on  along  the  road, 
which  began  to  ascend,  they  saw  Marianne,  who  had 
again  slackened  her  pace. 

"She  is  not  galloping  now,"  said  Philippe.  "Who 
knows  if  she  is  not  thinking  of  me  ?  " 

**  She  must  be,"  said  Pierre  to  himself,  and  he  felt  a 
sort  of  inward  spasm. 


216  MARIANNE. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Philippe  Gaucher  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  find  no 
favor  in  Madame  Andre's  eyes.  Yet  lie  was  a  well-mean- 
ing young  fellow,  frank,  simple,  and  as  open  as  the  day ; 
but  Madame  Andre  objected  to  any  man  who  took  upon 
himself  to  look  handsomer  than  her  son,  though  the  latter 
was  not  what  country  folk  call  2^ fine  man.  His  shoulders 
Avere  not  square,  his  beard  black,  his  color  high,  nor  his 
chest  arched.  He  looked  interesting,  modest,  and  intel- 
ligent ;  and  both  his  face  and  person  were  cast  in  a  re- 
fined mould. 

His  mother,  who  had  seen  nothing  of  the  world,  and 
could  have  given  no  definition  of  her  ideas  of  refinement, 
possessed  in  him  a  certain  standard  of  comparison.  She 
was  shocked  by  the  air  of  vulgarity  penetrating  all  Phil* 
ippe's  words,  gestures,  and  attitudes,  and  concluded  that 
his  ideas  and  actions  were  natural  to  a  man  of  his  type. 
She  was  not  deficient  in  that  mother  wit  which  belongs 
to  the  centre  of  France,  and  esioecially  to  its  women. 
She  rallied  him  politely  all  dinner  time,  without  his  con- 
descending to  notice  it  ;  but  then,  as  she  was  hospitable 
before  all  things,  she  had  received  him  kindly  and  shown 
him  every  possible  attention. 

When  Philippe  learned  that  the  Andres  were  to  dine 
with  Mademoiselle  Chevreuse  on  the  day  following,  and 
would  take  the  opportunity  of  introducing  him,  he  thought 
more  progress  was  made  than  he  anticipated,  and  could 
not  help  saying  that  his  lucky  star  was  in  the  ascendant. 

"  Which  is  it?"  asked  Madame  Andre  maliciously. 


MARIANNE,  217 

"  I  don't  know  its  name,"  answered  he  lightly ;  "  I 
know  nothing  of  astronomy,  but  when  I  see  the  largest  and 
brightest,  I  feel  sure  it  must  be  mine.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve in  the  influence  of  the  stars,  Pierre  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  I  believe  in  them  for  Napoleon  and  for 
you.  If  simple  mortals  like  myself  are  patronized  by  a 
star,  mine  must  be  tiny  and  very  far  away,  for  I  have 
never  seen  it  yet." 

Philippe  had  prolonged  the  evening  to  an  unusual 
hour  at  Dolmor,  never  suspecting  thajt  nine  was  the  old 
lady's  bedtime.  Pierre,  seeing  the  finger  of  the  clock 
point  to  eleven,  said  to  his  guest:  "You  must  be  tired 
with  your  journey  ;  you  have  only  to  say  the  word,  and  1 
will  show  you  to  your  room." 

"  I  am  never  tired,"  returned  Gauch'er ;  "  nothing 
fatigues  me,  but  I  still  hear  the  rumbling  of  that  diligence 
in  my  head,  which  makes  me  rather  sleepy  ;  so,  if  you  will 
allow  me — " 

Pierre  conducted  him  to  a  little  guest-chamber,  quite 
new  and  fresh,  where  the  artist  threw  back  the  shutters, 
in  order,  as  he  said,  to  be  aroused  by  the  first  rays  of 
dawn.  He  thought  of  going  out  and  exploring  the  coun- 
try, in  order  to  select  some  subject  for  painting  during  the 
days  following. 

"  I  hope  you  will  sleep  well,"  said  Pierre;  "  I  wake 
with  the  dawn,  and  will  call  you,  if  you  would  like  to 
be  shown  the  prettiest  spots  in  our  valley." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Philippe,  "  but  I  must  own  that 
I  prefer  finding  them  out  for  myself.  It  is  a  trouble  to 
an  artist  to  have  to  balance  his  own  points  of  view  against 
those  of  others." 

"Which  means,"  thought  Pierre  Andr6,  "that  you 
intend  to  track  Marianne  home  and  importune  her  by 
your  curiosity.     I  shall  keep  an  eye  on  you,  my  boy  ;  sliP 


218  MARIANNE. 

is  not  yet  yours,  and  her  godfather  has  a  right  to  protect 
her." 

He  returned  to  hi.*^  room,  and  thought  of  writing  to 
work  off  his  ill-humor,  but  could  not  find  the  pocket-book 
in  which  he  had  been  scribbling  the  day  before.  His 
searches  after  it  were  fruitless,  and  as  he  scarcely  recol- 
lected what  he  had  written,  he  began  to  fear  lest  he  might 
have  lost  it  durino-  his  walk.  Rememberino-  that  he  had 
put  down  his  stick  and  satchel  in  the  drawing-room  on 
his  return,  he  went  down  to  see  if  the  book  Avere  there, 
and  came  upon  his  mother,  who  seemed  just  as  much  agi- 
tated as  himself. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  ?  "  said  she. 

"  For  a  "wretched  little  book,  in  which  I  made  my 
notes.'* 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  she,  opening  a  drawer.  "  I  found 
it  this  morning  when  I  was  clearing  things  away,  and 
locked  it  up  here." 

"  If  you  have  read  it  you  will  think  me  demented," 
replied  Andre,  as  he  pocketed  his  book. 

*'  Read  it  ?  Dear  me,  no  ;  I  never  trouble  myself  to 
read  writing,  and  don't  find  it  over-easy  to  make  out . 
but  why  do  you  say  you  must  seem  demented  ?  " 

"  Because — First  tell  me  why  you  seem  so  disturbed 
and  put  out." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  difiiculty  in  answering.  It  makes 
me  furious  to  think  of  the  sweetheart  we  have  to  present 
to  Marianne,  and  how  we  shall  be  forced  to  pretend  be- 
fore her  that  we  think  him  charming,  now  that  we  have 
received  and  welcomed  him.  But  no,  I  can  never  act 
such  a  part.  I  consider  him  absurd  and  wearisome,  and 
will  not  promise  to  disguise  my  opinion." 

"  You  are  judging  rashly,"  replied  Pierre,  seating  him- 
self beside  his  mother,  who  had  flung  herself  on  the  sofa 


MARIANNE.  219 

in  a  pet.  "  He  is  neither  foolish  noT  bad-hearted ;  hia 
manner  is  rather  self-confident,  I  own,  but  it  may  suit 
Marianne,  who  knows  ?  She  may  not  have  all  the  judg- 
ment with   which  you,  and  I,  for  your  sake,  credit  her." 

"  Marianne  has  plenty  of  cleverness  and  good  sense 
too,"  exclaimed  Madame  Andre ;  "  you  do  not  know 
her." 

"  Quite  true  ;  she  is  a  mystery  to  me." 

"  It  is  your  own  fault ;  you  talk  to  her  so  little  and 
make  such  light  use  of  every  opportunity  of  knowing  more 
of  her!" 

"  It  may  be  partly  my  fault,  but  still  more  hers.  I 
assure  you  that  she  likes  to  play  the  sphinx,  and  that  I 
lack  Philippe  Gaucher's  boldness,  and  cannot  lift  the  veil 
of  modesty  in  which  a  young  girl  shrouds  herself.  She 
may  be  a  child  compared  to  me,  but  still  she  is  a  woman, 
and  I  cannot  encroach  upon  feminine  reserve." 


CHAPTER  XY. 


Madame  Andee  reflected  for  some  moments,  then 
taking  her  son's  hand,  she  said  :  "  You  are  timid,  too 
timid !  If  you  had  chosen,  you  might  have  been  the 
man  whom  Marianne  would  .have  loved  and  married." 

"  You  are  raking  up  bygone  offences !  That  was  six 
years  ago.  Remember  that  I  have  given  up  all  thoughts 
of  marriage  for  the  last  six  years." 

♦And  why?     Are  you  so  old  at  thi«ty-five?" 

"Sufficiently  so  to  judge  of  my  future  by  comparing 
it  with  the  past.  When  a  man  has  not  succeeded  in 
making  a  fortune  before  the  age  of  five  and  thirty,  it  is 


220  MARIANNE. 

safe  to  prophesy  that  he  will  never  do  it,  and  may  with- 
draw from  the  perplexities  and  emotions  of  life. 

"All  the  more  reason  that  he  should  marry  well." 

"  To  seek  for  love  with  an  eye  to  marrying  well,  is 
what  I  have  never  done,  and  never  shall  do." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand,  I  know  you.  I  have  some 
pride  myself  and  can  enter  into  yours,  but  I  am  blaming 
you  for  not  having  loved  Marianne  for  her  own  sake.; 
she  deserved  it,  and  would  have  been  ready  to  return 
your  affection.  When  love  comes  on  the  scene,  it  destroys 
any  disparity  in  fortune." 

"  Quite  true,  but  I  never  thought  that  Marianne  could 
possibly  love  me.  If  Philippe  has  too  much  self-eonfi- 
dence,  I  may  err  in  the  other  extreme.  And  then,  I 
must  confess,.!  had  set  my  mind  on  travelling,  and  hoped 
to  make  a  fresh  start.  Any  one  but  myself,  with  a  little 
dexterity  and  pushing  would  have  made  something  of  the 
opportunity  which  came  in  his  way.  I  made  no  use  of 
it.  As  I  have  told  you  more  than  once,  I  can  never  turn 
anything  to  my  own  advantage.  It  is  all  over  now,  and 
I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  contribute  a  little  to  your  happi- 
ness. Do  not  spoil  our  present  life  by  reverting  vainly 
to  the  past.  You  say  that  Marianne  would  have  loved  me 
—she  must  feel  that  I  never  noticed  it,  and  will  never 
forgive  me.  Now  I  can  understand  her  coldness,  the 
pains  she  takes  to  keep  me  at  a  distance,  and  the  ceremony 
with  which  she  treats  me,  so  different  from  her  old  familiar 
manner.  However  cold  or  amiable  a  woman  may  be,  she 
never  pardons  a  man  for  being  blind,  and  now  that  she  is 
about  to  fall  a  prey  to  the  clear  bold  eyes  of  a  resolute 
unscrupulous  boy,  she  will  avenge  herself  on  my  stupidity  ! 
May  she  enjoy  her  revenge  and  be  happy  !  That  is  all  we 
can  wish.  I  intend  to  look  on  with  a  good  grace,  and  to 
be  frank  in  approving  her  choice." 


MARIANNE.  221 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Pierre.  If  you  cared  for  her, 
there  is  vet  time,  but  you  don't  care,  you  don't  love  my 
poor  Marianne,  and  she  must  suffer  for  it !  You  would 
have  made  her  happy,  as  she  can  never  be  with  a  man  so 
much  her  inferior." 

"  If  her  superiority  is  as  great  as  you  fancy,  she  will 
find  it  out  betimes ;  she  has  not  yet  spoken  the  fatal 
word." 

*'  You  don't  think  he'r  intelligent,  which  proves  your 
own  stupidity,  if  you  will  forgive  me  for  saying  so  !  I 
know  that  I  cannot  judge  for  you,  and  you  may  be  right 
in  saying  I  know  nothing  about  it.  1  know  too  that  it 
is  difiicult  to  judge  of  the  mind  of  any  one  who  refuses 
to  show  it  ;  but  when  we  wish  to  love  a  person,  we  make 
an  effort,  and  when  we  love,  we  divine.     If  you  loved — " 

Pierre  kissed  his  mother's  hand  with  an  emotion 
which  he  speedily  repressed.  He  had  been  on  the  point 
of  telling  her  how  much  he  had  been  tempted  to  fall  in 
love  during  the  last  few  days,  and  that  he  was  perhaps 
already  vanquished.  He  refrained,  for  if  he  confessed  his 
torments,  his  mother  would  share  them  as  fully,  and  urge 
him  into  a  struggle  which  he  believed  fruitless. 

"  We  will  talk  of  all  this  after  to-morrow,"  said  he. 
"  First  let  us  see  how  Gaucher  will  take.  It  is  late 
now,  and  we  must  go  to  bed.  Don't  trouble  yourself, 
be  sure  that  I  am  happy  enough  with  you  to  wish  for 
nothing  better." 

On  returning  to  his  room,  he  resolved  to  unburden 
his  mind,  and  opened  the  pocket-book.  At  the  last  page 
of  his  previous  soliloquy,  he  found  a  little  wild  heartsease 
which  he  did  not  remember  enclosing,  but  which  set  him 
musing.  "  One  ouglit  to  make  a  collection  of  botanical 
souvenirs,"  said  he.  "  A  flower,  a  leaf,  or  a  bit  of  moss 
assumes  the  virtue  of   a  relic,  if  it  recalls   some  mental 


222  MARIANNE 

event,  an  emotion  of  the  heart  or  an  effort  of  the  will 
We  recollect  the  fatigue  or  peril  which  some  botanical 
trophy  cost  us.  We  recall  the  grand  or  charming  scenes 
which  have  been  impressd  on  our  memory ;  but  these 
vestiges  always  evoke  the  drama  of  external  nature  ;  oui 
ihental  history  would  play  a  different   part — " 

At  this  moment  Pierre's  attention  was  diverted  b^ 
the  sound  of  foot  teps  along  the  wooden  corridors  and 
staircase  of  his  cottage  ;  then  he  heard  the  front  door 
open,  and  saw  Philippe  Gaucher  from  his  window,  ap- 
parently in  the  act  of  sallying  forth  by  night  to  find  sub- 
jects for  his  pencil. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  conversa- 
tion between  Pierre  and  his  mother,  of  which  We  have 
given  but  an  abstract,  had  lasted  more  than  two  hours. 
What  fancy  could  possess  the  artist  to  wander  out  of  the 
house  and  garden  before  daybreak?  Andr^  burned 
with  sudden  indignation  at  the  idea  that  this  yonug  fool, 
eager  to  secure  an  independent  position,  was  ready  to 
compromise  Marianne  if  he  could  but  the  more  speedily 
and  safely  secure  his  own  ends.  He  overtook  him  in 
a  few  hasty  strides,  as  he  was  about  to  take  the  turning 
to  Validat.  "  Where  are  you  going?"  was  his  abrupt 
question,  "  are  you  given  to  walking  in  your  sleep  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Philippe,  more  surprised  than  vexed 
at  being  overtaken  by  his  host,  "  I  am  walking  in  the 
sleep  of   love,  which   goes  straight   to   its   goal  without 


MARIANNE.  223 

knowing  the  way ;  but  I  shall  manage  to  discover  my 
rustic  beauty's  manor  or  cot.  I  saw  her  pass  this  way 
yesterday,  and  you  told  me  she  lived  near  the  road  by 
those  hills  which  rise  on  our  right.  The  night  is  not 
dark,  and  the  sun  will  be  up  in  another  hour.  Don't 
trouble  your  head  about  me,  my  dear  fellow,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  alter  your  habits." 

"  The  first  and  most  important  of  them,"  returned 
Pirere,  "  is  to  watch  over  my  friend's  safety." 

"  You  are  realy  too  kind  !  I  had  rather  go  alone,  as 
I  told  you." 

"  My  anxiety  was  not  about  you,  but  about  my  god- 
daughter." 

"Your  goddaughter,  who  is  she  ?" 

"  Mo  demoiselle  Chevreuse,  whom,  if  I  i^nderstand 
rightly,  you  are  about  to  compromise." 

"Is  she  your  goddaughter?  Ah,  well,  that  explains 
all.  I  took  you  for  a  jealous  and  unsuccessful  suitor ; 
but  the  instant  I  know  your  rights  as  sort  of  father,  I 
hasten  to  vow  and  declare  how  sorry  I  shoald  be  to  do 
anything  that  might  compromise  your  Marianne.  Know, 
Jear  friend,  that  my  intentions  are  as  pure  as  the  sky 
above.  Yesterday,  my  charming  sweetheart  declined 
the  flower  I  offered  her,  saying  that  she  was  about  to 
gather  it  for  her  horse,  and  I  offered  it  to  her  horse,  or 
rather,  her  mare,  who  is  called  Suzon,  as  you  told  me 
last  night.  Well,  this  morning  I  thought  of  scouring 
every  grove  in  the  country  to  make  a  splendid  bouquet 
or  garland  of  honeysuckle  to  hang  on  Mademoiselle  Chev- 
reuse's  gate,  with  this  modest  inscription,  which  I  carry 
ready  written  in  my  poCket ;  "  To  Mademoiselle  Suzon, 
from  her  devoted  servant."  You  see  I  am  going  to  do 
nothing  offensive,  and  your  goddaughter  will  laugh  over 
the  little  adventure." 


^24  -  MARIANNE, 

"  If  your  ambitien  is  to  make  her  laugh,  I  have  no 
doubt  of  your  success." 

"  You  think  the  laugh  -will  be  at  ray  expense.  Never 
mind  that !  The  point  is  to  make  her  think  of  me, 
eitlTer  in  jest  or  earnest,  and  you  will  be  conferring  a 
favor  on  me  by  turning  me  into  ridicule.  I  shall  be 
easily  able  to  take  my  revenge  when  her  head  has  been 
turned  by  my  absurdities.  I  mean  to  perpetrate  no  end 
of  them,  but  their  nature  shall  be  such  that  her  austere 
godfather  will  never  need  to  remind  me  of  the  resjject 
due  to  his  adopted  daughter.'* 

Pierre  felt  ready  to  show  him  at  once  that  his  offer- 
ino-  to  Suzon  was  tantamount  to  a  declaration  of  love  to 
her  mistress,  and  might  give  rise  to  a  good  deal  of  gos- 
sip, since^  the  farm-laborers,  being  unable  to  read,  and 
seeing  this  bouquet  hanging  on  the  gate,  would  be  sure 
to  say  it  was  'Aposy  or  love-offering  for  their  mistress  ;  but 
Philippe  seemed  so  decided,  that  he  felt  obliged  to  leave 
him  to  himself  for  fear  of  becoming  irritated,  which 
would  have  been  quite  absurd,  and  contrary  to  all  the 
laws  of  hospitality.  So  Pierre  professed  to  treat  the 
affair  as  a  joke  and  let  him  go,  merely  reminding  hi^ 
that  his  mother  breakfasted  at  nine,  and  that  towards 
noon  they  would  start  for  Validat,  where  they  were  to 
dine  at  three  o'clock,  the  usual  hour  in  their  neighbor- 
hood. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  me,"  answered  Phil- 
ippe, "  and,  above  all,  don't  wait  for  me.  If  I  go  too  far 
to  be  back  for  your  breakfast-hour,  I  can  get  some  bread 
and  milk  anywhere.  A  landscape  artist  is  never  at  a  loss. 
I  have  explored  many  a  country  beside  your  microscopic 
Switzerland,  my  good  fellow  !  " 

Pierre  pretended  to  go  in,  but  took  a  short  cut  across 
the  fields  towards  'V'^alidat.     He  wished  to  keep  an  eye 


MARIANNE.  225 

on  his  young  man,  as  he  contemptuously  designated  him 
He  gave  a  wild  laugh  of  satisfaction  within  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  when  he  descried  Philippe  in  the  distance,  paus- 
incf  before  the  road  which  descended  into  the  hollow  to- 
'wards  Validat,  and  then  continuing  along  the  open  road 
on  rising  ground  towards  the  castle  of  Mortsang. 

Philippe  had  looked  down  on  the  mossy  tiles  wl^ch 
roofed  the  farmhouse  at  Validat  almost  hidden  by 
spreading  walnuts,  and  showing  neither  wing  nor  turret, 
and  had  not  chosen  to  suppose  that  his  lady-love  could 
occupy  so  humble  an  abode.  Seeing  a  picturesque  castle 
further  on,  he  had  hastened  thither  to  deposit  his  offer- 
ing on  the  gate  of,  an  aristocratic  family,  who  knew  notb. 
ing  of  his  passion. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 


Pierre,  being  resolved  in  any  case  to  watch  over 
Marianne,  went  into  the  house  to  fetch  his  stick  and 
satchel,  accessories  which  furnished  a  pretext  for  his  ac- 
customed walks,  and  without  which,  some  surprise  would 
have  been  shown  at  his  wandering  about  the  country. 
Rustics  are  inclined  to  think  a  man  mad  if  he  roams 
about  without  any  decided  object ;  but  if  he  seems  to  be 
looking  for  something  or  collecting  it,  he  is  set  down  as  a 
scientific  man,  a  less  dangerous  reputation,  unless  it 
chance  to  involve  some  toucli  of  sorcery. 

Pierre  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  agriculture  to 
pass  for  a  2)ractical  man.  Besides,  on  seeing  him  ex- 
amine ruins,  plants,  and  rocks,  it  was  popularly  supposed 


226  MARIANNE, 

that  he  was  commissioned  to  draw  up  a  report  of  the 
country  for  government.  A  peasant  in  central  France 
can  never  imagine  any  maH  of  independent  means  mak- 
ing such  investigations  for  his  own  pleasure  or  j^rofit. 

The  sun  had  risen  before  Pierre  Andre  reached  the 
beech  wood  which  clothed  the  ravine  above  Validat. 
H»i-e,  hidden  by  the  undergrowth,  he  could  command 
both  the  farm  and  every  road  near  it.  He  saw  the 
household  busy,  probably  preparing  the  dinner  Mari- 
.'inne  was  to  give,  and  towards  five  o'clock  Marianne  her- 
self api^eared,  going  backwards  and  forwards  and  giv- 
ing orders.  Presently  Suzon  was  brought,  and  mount- 
ing her,  she  turned  her  head  towards  the  part  of  the 
wood  traversed  by  the  stream. 

Pierre  ran  down  the  hill  and  reached  the  little  ford 
as  she  came  up.  "  Where  are  you  going  this  morning?  " 
said  he,  in  a  tone  of  authority  which  surprised  her. 

"  Do  you  care  to  hear  ?  I  am  going  to  the  farm  of 
Mortsang  for  some  butter.  We  have  not  enough  for 
dinrter,  and  I  don't  like  to  be  short  of  anything  when  you 
are  coming  to  see  me." 

"  Don't  go  to  Mortsang  yourself,  Marianne,  send  some 
one;  pray  don't  go  anywhere  or  run  about  the  country 
to-day.  Stay  at  home  and  await  us  ;  by  to-morrow  you 
will  know  whether  you  are  to  give  up  your  solitary  rides 
or  not." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  Or  don't  choose  to  understand.  Well,  then,  you 
must  know  that  Phillippe  Gaucher  left  Dolmor  in  the 
dead  of  night  to  take  you  a  bouquet.  He  /lost  his  way 
certainly,  and  took  it  to  Mortsang  or  somewhere  else ; 
but  if  you  go  that  way,  you  run  the  risk  of  meeting  him." 

"  And  supposing  I  did'meet  him  ?  " 


MARIANNE.  227 

"  Just  as  you  choose.  I  have  warned  you.  If  you 
like  to  run  after  him — " 

"  No  one  can  suj^pose  that  I  am  so  eager  to  see  hiin.' 

'-^  He  will  suppose  it." 

"  Is  he  so  ludicrously  conceited  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  that,  you  shall  judge  for  yourself  ;  but  he 
has  plenty  of  assurance,  as  you  must  know  by  this  time." 

''  Yes  he  has  certainly  some  assurance,  but  there  is  'b 
wide  margin  between  that  and  absurdity.  Now  that  we 
are  alone,  tell  me  something  about  him.  I  will  give  up 
doing  my  own  errands  to-day,  since  you  object  to  it.  I 
will  go  back  and  say,  that  Suzon  has  fallen  lame,  so  that 
I  do  not  wish  to  ride  her.  But  since  we  have  met  so  op- 
portunely, let  us  have  a  little  chat." 

"  This  is  no  chance  meeting.  I  have  been  keeping 
guard." 

''  Over  mef     Have  you  really  ?" 

"  Yes,  over  you.  You  are  entitled  to  my  advice  and 
protection  up  to  the  moment  when  you  say,  'I  know 
what  this  young  man  is,  he  will  do  for  me.'  That  moment 
may  perhaps  be  this  evening  or  to-morrow  morning.  I 
cannot  argue  a  long  continuation  of  my  guardianship  from 
Philippe's  way  of  setting  to  work." 

"  You  think  that  it  will  only  take  me  till  this  evening 
or  to-morrow  morning  to  know  him?  You  credit  me  with 
more  sagacity  than  I  possess." 

"  My  dear  child,  your  pretense  of  stupidity  is  mere 
coquetry." 

"  What ! "  said  Marianne,  listening,  and  examining 
Pierre's  countenance  with  more  eagerness  than  usual. 
"  Say  whatever  you  think,  help  me  to  understand  myself, 
for  that  is  just  what  I  want.  Do  you  say  that  I  pretend 
to  be  stupid,  but  am  not  so  in  reality  ?  " 

Pierre  was  embarrassed  by  this  unexpected  question. 


'228  MARIANNE. 

pnt  in  such  plain  terms.  "  I  did  not  come  here  to  analyze 
your  cliaracter,"  said  he.  "  My  title  of  godfather  merely 
authorizes  me  to  preserve  you  from  wanton  insults.  You 
want  me  to  talk  to  you  about  M.  Phillippe,  and  seem  very 
inquisitive  about  everything  concerning  him,  though  you 
generally  show  so  much  indifference.  Well,  all  that  I  can 
say  is  that  he  is  very  enterprising,  and  determined  to  do 
all  he  can  to  please  you." 

"  Does  he  wish  to  please  me  ?  Then  he  must  like 
me?" 

"  So  he  says." 

"  But  does  not  mean  it,  you  think  ?  " 

'■'  I  know  nothing  about  that ;  I  do  not  wish  to  sup- 
pose that  he  is  not  in  love  with  you  for  your  own  sake." 

"  What  has  he  said  about  me  '?  He  does  not  know  me 
at  all.     He  cannot  think  me  pretty." 

"  Yes,  he  does." 

"  But  he  does  not  really  mean  it,  does  he  ?  Do  tell 
me  the  truth." 

While  Marianne  put  these  questions  to  Andre,  her 
face  had  become  animated  and  looked  resolute  and  timid 
by  turns;  ber  color  had  risen  and  her  eyes  flashed  and 
sparkled.  This  was  a  genuine  transformation,  and  struck 
Pierre  very  much.  "  You  must  be  in  love  wth  him  al- 
ready," replied  he,  "  for  you  look  quite  pretty  now,  and 
he  has  brought  you  the  beauty  which  you  never  possessed 
l)efore  !  " 

"  If  he  brings  me  beauty,"  said  Marianne,  growing 
still  rosier  with  delight,  "he  has  made  me  a  grand  pres- 
ent already,  and  I  ouglit  to  be  grateful !  I  always 
thought  myself  plain,  and  no  one  ever  undeceived  me." 

"  You  were  never  plain,  and  I  did  not  know  that  I 
had  ever  said — " 


MARIANNE.  229 

"  Oh,  as  to  you,"  was  her  prompt  rejoinder,  "  you 
never  looked  at  me  to  see  what  sort  of  a  face  I  had  ! " 

"That again  is  coquetry,  Marianne.  I  always  looked 
at  you — with  interest." 

"Yes,  just  as  a  doctor  looks  at  his  patient;  you 
thought  I  should  not  live.  Now  that  you  see  me  alive 
and  well,  you  feel  no  further  anxiety." 

"And  yet  you  see  that  my  anxiety  did.  not  allow  ine 
to  sleep  last  night." 

"  Anxiety  about  what  ?  What  danger  could  I  be  in 
from  M.  Philippe  Gaucher?  Is  he  not  an  honorable  man  ? 
N^o  one  is  corrupt  at  his  age,  nor  am  I  a  child,  unable  to 
resist  a  few  soft  words  from  a  young  man." 

"  The  only  danger  is  that  of  giving  rise  to  gosssip  be- 
fore you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  justify  it, — you  who 
are  so  afraid  of  what  the  world  will  say,  that  you  decline 
to  receive  a  call  from  me !  " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  much  worse  to  have  anything  said 
about  you.  People  know  that  you  would  not  marry  me, 
it  is  quite  a  different  thing  with  a  young  man  who  is  be- 
ginning life." 

*'  What  absurdities  you  are  talking  !  Should  not  I 
marry  you  if  I  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  compromise 
you?" 

"  Oh  yes,  you  would  marry  me  from  a  sense  of  honor, 
and  I  neither  wish  to  place  you  in  such  a  dilemma,  nor 
to  feel  myself  obliged  to  accept  your  hand  as  a  repara- 
tion." 

Andre  was  much  disturbed  by  every  word  that  fell 
from  Marianne's  lips.  They  were  both  standing  still,  she, 
in  the  stream  where  Suzon  wanted  to  drink,  and  he,  lean- 
ing against  a  block  of  gritstone.  The  clear  waters  flowed 
over  the  sand  which  they  seemed  scarcely  to  wet,  and  the 
trees,  shad.y  with  their  new  foliage,  formed  a  soft  green 


230  MARIANNE. 

canopy,  through  which  gleamed  the  rosy  tints  of  the  ris- 
ing sun. 

"  Marianne,"  said  Andrd  thoughtfully,  "  you  look 
really  very  pretty  this  morning,  "  and  the  young  spark 
who  first  discovered  your  beauty  must  feel  profound  con- 
tempt for  me,  for  I  spoke  of  you  with  the  modesty 
befitting  a  father  listening  to  praises  ®f  his  daughter.  He 
will  be  sure  to  say — " 

"  Well,  what  am  I  to  think  ?  " 

"  You  must  think  that  a  man  in  my  position  cannot 
regard  you  with  the  eyes  of  a  suitor,  and  that  he  is  not 
absurd  for  justifying  himself.  You  seem  to  reproach  me 
with  contempt  or  indifference  because  I  was  blind.  Why 
cannot  you  attribute  it  to  virtue  and  respect?" 

"  I  am  grateful,"  returned  Marianne  with  a  beaming 
smile,  "  and  I  never  felt  wounded  by  your  indifference.  I 
care  little  whether  I  am  thought  pretty,  so  long  as  I  am 
loved,  and  I  am  Sure  of  the  kind  interest  you  have  always 
shown  in  me.  If  M.  Gaucher  is  not  the  husband  to  suit 
me,  you  liave  only  to  say  so,  and  I  will  take  your  advice." 

*'  Wait  till  this  evening,  Marianne ;  if  yow  take  a  fancy 
to  him,  it  will  alter  everything,  and  you  will  not  consult 
me." 

"  7" might  like  him,  and  you  might  not— Well,  how- 
ever that  may  be,  it  shall  not  prevent  my  listening  to 
you." 

"  That  is  all  nonsense,  child  ;  if  he  suits  you,  I  have- 
no  right  to  object." 

The  expression  on  Marianne's  face  changed,  and  she 
seemed  again  to  shrink  fnto  the  frigid  little  person  with 
whom  Pierre  was  familiar.  She  appeared  to  be  offended 
by  her  godfather's  resignation,  and,  weary  of  attempting 
to  stir  him  up,  to  renouncCj  once  for  all,  her  hopes  of  win^ 
ning  his  affections.  • 


MARIANNE  281 

"  Since  you  leave  me  so  perfectly  free,"  said  she, 
"I  have  only  myself  to  consult.  Good-by  for  the 
present." 

She  was  about  to  turn  her  horsje's  head,  when  Pierre, 
yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse,  seized  Suzon  by  the  bridle, 
exclaiming :  "  Stop,  Marianne,  you  cannot  part  from  me 
so  coldly !  " 

"  Well,"  said  she,  softening,  "  what  would  you  have 
me  say  ?  " 

"  Some  word  of  affectionate  confidence." 

"  Did  not  I  &ay  it  when  I  promised  not  to  marry 
contrary  to  your  wishes  ?  " 

"  And  don't  you  see  that  I  could  not  aacept  such  a 
sacrifice  as  your  submission?  " 

''  Perhaps  it  might  be  no  sacrifice,  who  knows  ?  *' 

"  Who  knows  ?  Quite  true  !  You  know  nothing  about 
it  yet !  " 

And  Pierre,  intimidated  and  discouraged  at  the  \6ery 
moment  when  he  should  have  given  vent  to  his  feelings, 
released  Suzon  and  bowed  his  head,  but  not  before 
Marianne  had  caught  sight  of  the  tears  which  stood  in 
his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XVUI. 


"  Well,"  said  Marianne  to  herself  as  she  retraced 
her  steps,  "  at  length  I  seem  to  see  my  way.  I  thought 
he  would  never  love  me  !  Did  he  not  think  and  write 
that  marriage  was  a  tomb,  and  that  he  could  never  be 
satisfied  with  quiet  unw^avering  happiness  ?    And  y^t  he 


232  MARIAN-NE. 

is  chagrined  by  my  hesitation  ;  what  a  sti'ange  character 
is  his,  and  how  doubtful  he  is  of  everything !  " 

Marianne  went  indoors,  and  shut  herself  up  in  her 
room,  suffering  from  such  agitation  as  she  had  never 
before  known.  She  was  thoroughly  sincere  in  her  self- 
examination,  and  knew  that  she  had  been  rather  disturbed 
by  her  encounter  with  Philippe,  and  that  if  she  followed 
her  instincts,  it  would  give  her  some  gratification  to  see 
herself  ai^preciated  by  this  stranger. 

"  How  easy  it  is  to  u-nderstand  these  decided  people," 
thought  she,  ''  ought  we  not  to  be  grateful  to  them  for 
sparing  us  the  torments  of  hesitation  ?  Pierre's  respect 
for  me  is  satisfactory  and  flattering,  but  does  he  not 
carry  it  too  far  ?  Does  he  want  me  to  make  the  first 
advances  ?  is  it  not  natural  for  the  man  to  take  the  in- 
itiative ?  " 

Marianne  felt  impelled  and  restrained  by  a  true  and 
logical  propensity  common  to  women,  which  leads  them 
to  esteem  above  all  things  in  the  stronger  sex  the  resolu- 
tion which  characterizes  the  masculine  nature.  She  had 
quivered  with  pleasure  when  Pierre  seized  her  bridle 
authoritatively  and  detained  her;  but  she  felt  that 
Philippe  would  never  have  relaxed  his  hold,  and  that 
Pierre's  courage  had  soon  failed  him.  And  yet, — the 
tears  he  could  not  r'estrain  would  never  have  been  shed 
by  Philippe. 

"  Perhaps  his  timidity  is  but  the  natural  result  of  my 
own,"  said  Marianne  to  herself.  "  I  have  never  said  a 
word  or  given  a  look  to  betray  that  I  wished  for  his  love. 
I  am  too  proud,  he  must  think  me  indifferent  or  stupid. 
Would  he  love  me  frankly  if  1  were  more  of  the  coquette 
and  bolder  ?     Who  knows  ?  " 

Pierre,  on  his  side,  was  retracing  his  steps  to  Dolmor 
without  any  further  thought  of  watching  over  Philippe's 


MARIANNE.  233 

movements ;  the  tears  were  trickling  down  his  checks, 
though  he  was  not  aware  of  it.  "  I  am  accomplishing 
my  destiny,"  said  lie  ;  "  now  I  am  crowning  the  history 
of  my  aberrations  by  again  longing  for  what  is  impossible. 
So  long  as  Marianne  remained  free  and  appeared  indif- 
ferent to  me,  I  never  troubled  my  head  about  her,  but 
as  soon  as  a  rival,  with  everything  in  his  favor,  appears 
on  th-e  scene,  I  become  desperately  jealous.  I  am  crazy 
and  idiotic  too,  for  just  at  the  moment  when  I  ought  to 
speak,  I  feel  more  incapable  than  ever  of  wooing  her." 

He  found  his  mother  up  and  making  breakfast,  and 
as  he  jjreferred  complaining  of  Marianne  rather  than  not 
talking  of  her,  he  gave  an  account  of  their  interview,  add- 
ing :  "  I  assure  you  that  Marianne  is  a  coquette  and  loves 
to  tease.  She  tried  to  make  me  own  myself  in  love  with 
her,  that  she  might  enjoy  this  triumph  before  taking  her 
revenge.  To-night  or  to-morrow  she  would  have  laughed 
Avitli  her  future  husband  at  my  folly.  In  vain  Madame 
Andre  tried  to  argue  the  contrary.  She  even  went  so 
far  as  to  swear  that  he  was  the  only  man  her  little  neigh- 
bor had  ever  loved,  and  that  she  had  been  waiting  on 
pupose  for  him  the  last  five  or  six  years  ;  but,  as  she 
could  not  quote  any  confidences  of  Marianne's  in  proof 
of  her  assertion,  Pierre  repulsed  such  hopes  as  a  dangerous 
snare.  He  would  not  confess  that  he  had  lost  his  heart, 
and  his  mother,  waxing  impatient,  ended  by  saying  : 
'^  Well,  let  us  make  up  our  minds,  and  if  we  feel  vexed  or 
annoyed  by  this  marriage,  let  us  say  that  we  did  not  choose 
to  prevent  it !  " 

Philippe  turned  up  for  breakfast,  and  did  justice  to 
the  meal.  He  told  Pierre  afterwards  that  he  had  gone 
far  astray  in  looking  for  Yalidat,  and  would  have  left 
his  garland  of  honeysuckle  on  the  gates  of  Mortsang,  had 
he  not  inquired  in  time  the  name  of  the  nianor-house  and 


234  MARIANNE. 

its  owner,  that  he  had  gone  still  further  and  found  nothing 
but  a  marshy  desert  of  moorland,  that  finally,  in  retracing 
liis  steps,  he  had  come  upon  an  ugly  farmhouse  which  he 
should  have  passed  without  stopping,  had  he  not  espied 
a  pony  grazing  in  the  meadow,  and  recognized  Ma- 
demoiselle Suzon.  Plunging  through  thorns,  he  made 
his  way  into  the  meadow,  and  having  hung  his  garland 
round  the  neck  of  the  bony  animal,  had  returned  in 
trumph,  considering  his  enterprise  successful  and  his 
night  well  employed. 

Pierre  scarcely  replied,  but,  wishing  to  get  rid  of  him, 
advised  him  to  go  and  lie  down  on  his  bed,  lest  the  loss 
of  his  sleep  should  paralyze  his  powers  of  seduction. 
Philippe  vowed  that  he  could  do  without  sleep  for  three 
nights  and  seem  none  the  worse ;  nevertheless  he  wan- 
dered off  to  stretch  himself  in  secret  on  the  moss  between 
some  rocks,  where  he  enjoyed  a  refreshing  sleep  till  near- 
ly noon. 

As  it  struck  twelve,  the  mare  and  chaise  from  Validat 
drove  up  to  the  gate  of  Dolmor.  Madame  Andr^  wore 
her  puce  silk  dress,  which  looked  quite  fresh,  though  she 
had  had  it  ten  years.  Philippe  arrayed  himself  in  a 
well-cut  ooat  of  black  cloth,  and  a  gorgeous  necktie^ 
Andrd  wore  his  ordinary  Sunday  suit.  Madame  Andrd 
got  into  the  chaise,  and  Marichette's  husband  prepared  to 
lead  the  mare  and  walk  by  her  side.  Philippe  sat  beside 
Madame  Andre,  and  professed  to  drive,  but  never  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  the  animal  into  a  trot,  as  a  rustic  brood 
mare  is  unaccustomed  to  that  pace. 

Andre  had  gone  before  on  foot.  He  was  the  first  to 
reach  Validat,  but  waited  for  the  chaise  before  present- 
ing himself.  The  heavy  vehicle,  finding  the  barrier  up, 
drove  in  slowly,  and  ponderously,  and  drew  up  between 
the  house  door   and  a  manure  heap.     Philippe  thought 


MARIANNE. 

his  future  manor-house  somewhat  too  rustic,  and  plannea- 
to  make  different  arrangements  if  he  found  the  premises 
convenient.  Unfortunately,  he  did  not ;  Mananne  stood 
on  the  threshold  of  the  kitchen  and  conducted  them  in, 
just  as  if  they  had  been  mere  peasants.  Yet  she  had  a 
pretty  little  sanctuary  of  her  own  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall ;  but  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to  admit  a 
stranger  there  yet,  and  Pierre  was  glad  to  see  her  in  no 
hurry  to  welcome  her  new  guest. 

Marianne  kissed  Madame  Andre,  gave  her  hand  to 
her  godfather,  and  bowed  with  perfect  self-possession  to 
the  guest  introduced  ;  then  she  took  Madame  Andre  into 
her  room  to  lay  aside  her  shawl  and  black  veil.  In  those 
days  the  poorer  women  of  the  middle  class  hardly  ever 
wore  bonnets ;  when  th^y  went  out  they  covered  their 
white  linen  caps  with  a  veil. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


Pierre  was  secretly  amused  by  Philippe's  discom- 
fiture, though.it  was  covered  by  his  jaunty  manner.  He 
had  no  suspicion  of  the  simple,  nay,  rude,  habits  of  coun- 
try proprietors  in  that  part  of  the  country  at  that  date. 
Marianne  appeared  to  have  made  no  change  in  the  ways 
in  which  she  had  been  brought  up.  She  had  long  had 
no  sitting-room  but  this  large  hall  with  smoky  rafters, 
hung  with  ropes  of  golden  brown  onions,  in  the  centre 
of  which  was  suspended,  like  a  lustre,  the  lattice  cage 
which  held  the  cheeses.     The  peasantry  of  the  district 


236  MARIANNE, 

are  very  tidy.  If  the  poultry  are  constantly  making 
their  way  to  the  hearth,  the  housewife,  armed  with  a 
broom,  is  always  on  the  alert  to  drive  them  out,  and 
remove  every  trace  of  their  intrusion.  The  bedsteads, 
like  every  piece  of  furniture,  are  polished  and  bright, 
and  the  pewter  vessels  on  the  dresser  shine  again  fr^m 
constant  scouring ;  but  the  large  beds  hung  with  yellow 
serge,  faded  till  it  assumes  the  hue  of  a  dead  leaf,  the 
black  chimney-piece  and  iron  chain  suspended  from  it, 
the  heartli  covered  with  pots,  cats,  and  children,  the  un- 
even cracked  pavement,  the  small  size  of  the  single  win- 
dow and  lowness  of  the  ceiling  Jhung  with  provisions  and 
utensils  of  which  you  have  to  steer  clear,  all  failed  to 
satisfy  the  young  Parisian's  idea  of  comfort,  nor  could 
he  even  imagine  an  artist's  studio  in  such  a  low  dark 
bituation. 

I^ot  being  devoid  of  worldly  wisdom  in  spite  of  his 
petulance,  he  took  care  not  to  express  one  word  of  dis- 
satisfaction to  Andre,  but  contented  himself  with  asking 
if  this  was  where  they  were  to  dine. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  replied  Pierre.  "  Mademoiselle 
Chevreuse  has  indeed  a  little  parlor  of  her  own  some- 
where ;  but  I  have  never  been  inside  since  slie  arranged 
it,  and  I  have  no  idea  whether  she  has  a  dining-room  or 
not.  I  fancy  ^slie  lives  quite  on  a  footing  of  equality 
with  her  farm-laborers,  and  takes  her  meajs  with  them." 

"  And  we  shall  sit  down  with  them  all  ?  Well,  this 
is  charming,  quite  a  picture  of  rural  life." 

At  this  moment  Marichette  came  to  say  to  Pierre 
that  if  the  gentlemen  liked  to  walk  round  the  garden 
they  would  find  seats,  and  that  her  mistress  had  no  doubt 
gone  there  already  with  Madame  Andre. 

"  The  garden  lies  at  the  back  of  the  house,"  added 
she  ;  "  but  if  you  like   to  go  through  the  young  lady's 


rooms,  it  will  save  you  from  haying  to  go  round  by  the. 
buildings." 

"  We  should  prefer  to  go  round,"  replied  Pieri-e,  who, 
\^'ith  all  his  curiosity  to  see  Marianne's  private  rooms, 
did  not  care  to  show  them  to  his  companion.  They 
})assed  behind  the  farm  buildings,  and  entered  into 
Marianne'«  garden,  where  they  found  the  table  laid  in 
the  little  covered  parterre  in  front  of  the  parlor.  The 
glass  door  stood  wide  oj^en,  and  without  entering,  for  no 
one  was  there,  they  saw  an  old  wainscoted  room,  painted 
white,  and  newly  varnished.  The  Louis  Quinze  furni- 
ture assimilated  with  the  wainscoting.  The  mirror,  sur- 
rounded by  those  graceful  festoons  in  carved  wood  of 
which  we  see  such  poor  imitations  now  a  days,  appeared 
very  old-fashioned  and  was  considered  quite  out  of  date, 
especially  in  the  country.  Nevertheless  it  looked  quaint 
and  pretty,  with  its  polished  white  garlands  drooping 
over  the  clear  glass,  which  some  masses  of  real  flowers 
concealed  in  front,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  mere  brilliant 
point,  giving  a  vista  into  space. 

Pierre  racked  his  memory  and  recognized  the  room 
and  furniture,  which,  in  old  M.  Chevreuse's  days,  he  had 
seen  dirty  and  chipped,  betraying  poverty  or  apatljy. 
Marianne  had  shown  good  taste  in  appreciating  these 
relics  of  the  former  century  and  having  them  renovated. 
The  floor  was  covered  with  a  light  carpet.  There  was 
nothing  hung  against  the  wainscoting,  but  splendid 
flowers  were  seen  at  every  corner,  and  rose  as  shrubs  or 
almost  trees  even  upon  the  bracket  which  stood  opposite 
the  fireplace. 

"  How  exquisite  this  is !  "  cried  Philippe.  "  I  felt 
sure  she  was  artistic !  " 

"How  could  you  know  that?"  asked  Pierre,  who 
was  really  the  more  surprised  of  the  two. 


MARIANNE. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  the  first  glimpse  of  the  woman  tells 
me,  without  any  need  of  definition.  Marianne's  type  is 
aristocratic." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  aristocratic  type  ?  I  am 
not  like  you,  and  have  not  seen  much  of  the  world." 

*'  Is  that  what  makes  you  in  such  a  caustic  humor 
to-day  ?  "  said  Philippe,  laughing. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


Mariani^e's  appearance  with  Madame  Andrd  put  an 
end  to  this  dialogue.  They  came  out  into  the  garden, 
and  the  gentlemen  hastened  to  join  them.  Pierre  told 
his  godchild,  that,  having  been  so  long  excluded  from 
her  sanctuary,  it  was  quite  new  to  him,  and  that  he 
should  like  to  see  what  alterations  she  had  made  in  it. 

*'  You  will  find  none,"  replied  she  ;  "  my  father  was 
fond  of  his  garden,  and  had  planted  it  himself ;  I  did 
not  like  to  destroy  any  part  of  it,  besides,  the  farm  peo- 
ple have  a  right  to  their  share  of  the  vegetables.  Time 
has  killed  many  of  the  trees,  and  frost  cut  down  many  of 
the  shrubs.  Wild  ones  have  sprung  up  in  their  place, 
and  the  end  of  the  enclosure,  at  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den, where  my  father  tried  to  make  a  nursery,  has  be- 
come a  wilderness." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it,"  said  Pierre,  "  I  remember 
how  damp  it  was,  and  that  I  prophesied  to  your  father 
that  his  ornamental  trees  would  never  thrive  there." 

"Will  you  go  by  yourself?"  said  Marianne;  "  it  is 
rather  too  damp  and  muddy  for  Madame  Andr^." 


MARIANNE.  239 

Pierre  crossed  the  orchard  and  plunged  into  the  for- 
mer nursery,  which  occupied  a  narrow  strip  of  ground 
enclosed  by  very  high  hedges,  and  watered  by  the  brook. 
He  felt  enchanted.  Marianne  had  let  nature  have  her 
own  way  with  this  tiny  natural  park.  The  grass  had 
grown  up  high  and  bushy  in  some  parts,  short  and  full 
of  flowers  in  others,  according  to  the  caprice  of  the 
many  rills  wliich  diverged  from  the  brook  and  returned 
to  it,  after  idly  wandering  through  the  crevices  in  the 
soil.  This  light  black  mould,  mixed  with  fine  sand,  was 
particularly  favorable  to  the  local  flora,  and  all  the  na- 
tive plants  seemed  to  have  met  there.  The  iris  and 
white  and  yellow  lilies  swarmed  in  the  water.  The  haw- 
thorn and  elder  had  shot  up  into  luxuriant  trees.  All  the 
varied  orchises  of  the  country  enamelled  the  turf,  with  a 
thousand  other  charming  flowers,  all  sorts  of  forget-me-not 
ragged  robin,  grass  of  parnassus,  and  wild  hyacinths, 
some  white  and  all  deliciously  scented.  The  higher  parts 
of  the  ground,  being  drier,  had  retained  their  covering 
of  purple  heather  and  creeping  broom,  through  which 
peeped  the  starlike  flowers  of  the  wild  anemone,  white 
inside  and  pink  beneath.  There  was  no  path  ;  the  de- 
posits of  sand  served  as  a  guide  into  this  labyrinth, 
which  was  never  entered  by  cattle,  and  frequented  only 
by  Marianne  herself.  Some  rocks  furnished  a  seat  for 
her  day-dreams,  and  some  clumps  of  alder  and  slender 
beech-trees  afforded  sufficient  shade  without  depriving 
the  low  gi-owing  vegetation  of  air. 

'^  Marianne  must  be  fond  of  nature,"  said  Pierre  to 
himself,  secretly  exhilarated ;  "  she  understands  it  and 
enters  into  it  as  I  do  !  But  she  never  says  anything, 
never  talks  about  it,  so  I  never  suspected  it !  " 

"Well,"  said  she,  suddenly  appearing  by  his  side,  **  you 
see  what  a  poor  gardener  I  am,  and  how  sorry  you  would 


^40  MARIANNE, 

be  to  exchange  your  garden,  which  you  complain  of  as 
too  new,  for  this  deserted  old  bog." 

"  I  should  find  this  old  bog  a  perfect  paradise !  Are 
you  aware  that  a  botanist  might  make  here  almost  a  com- 
plete collection  of  our  local  flora  ?  It  has  given  me  more 
than  one  surprise  to  find  here  some  of  the  rarest  species, 
in  search  of  which  I  have  often  walked  long  distances  • 
such  as  this  club-rush  for  instance  beneath  our  feet." 

"  Oil,  that  came  from  the  rocks  at  Crevant,  and  has 
taken  kindly  to  this  spot." 

"  Then  you  have  sometimes  been  as  far  as  Crevant  ?  " 

"  Frequently  ;  it  is  a  rich  natural  garden  ;  1  brought 
this  pretty  white  hyacinth  from  there." 

"  That  is  not  a  hyacinth,  but  the  bog-bean,  a  far  more 
beautiful  and  uncommon  flower." 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  names  of  plants,  but  I 
know  their  appearance  and  scent.  Whenever  I  go  out,  I 
collect  seeds,  bulbs,  or  young  plants,  and  bring  them  here, 
where  nearly  everything  thrives." 

"  That  explains  what  I  see.  You  have  created  this 
little  Eden  yourself?  " 

"  Partly  ;  but  I  never  boast  of  having  acclimatized  all 
these  wild  things,  or  peoi3le  would  think  me  mad." 

"  You  might  have  confessed  it  to  me,  who  share  your 
mania." 

"  Oh,  you !  you  are  a  scientific  man,  and  it  is  quite 
natural  for  you  to  be  interested  in  all  these  specimens. 
But  I  am  ignorant,  so  I  have  no  excuse." 

"  What  excuse  can  you  want  for  your  love  of  flowers  ? 
It  is  all  the  more  charming  of  you  because  you  are  not 
acquainted  with  the  secrets  of  their  beauty.  If  you  were 
to  examine  them  carefully — " 

"  Oh,  I  examine  them,  so  far  as  that  goes,  and  could 
^ell  you  their  relations  and  differences  without  knowing 


MARIANNE.  241 

one  word  of  science.  They  are  so  beautiful  and  so  varied  ! 
I  admire  the  beautiful  exotics  you  have  in  your  garden 
still  more,  but  I  should  never  love  them.  These  little 
wild  flowers  are  more  to  my  taste,  and  within  my  reach.'' 

"  Then  you  look  at  them  as  you  ride  along  ?  I  fancied 
that  you  saw  nothing,  that  you  enjoyed  galloping  on  Su- 
zon  for  the  pleasure  of  the  swift  motion,  that  in  fact,  what 
you  liked  in  the  country  was  its  freedom  and  space,  and 
the  exercise  for  its  own  sake." 

"  Yes,  there  is  certainly  a  great  pleasure  in  rapid  mo- 
tion, in  cleaving  the  air,  and  bounding  over  the  heather 
as  swift  as  a  hare ;  but  a  still  greater  in  seeing  everything 
as  one  walks  along  and  stops  before  whatever  one  likes  or 
admires.  I  enjoy  both  what  I  know  and  what  I  don't 
know.  I  want  to  learn  nothing,  and  yet  to  know  every- 
thing, or,  rather  I  should  like  to  know  it  all,  and  then 
forget  it,  but  to  be  able  to  recall  it  wlien  I  choose,  for 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  making  guesses,  and 
that  I  should  lose  if  I  knew  everything." 

"  Stay  as  you  are,  Marianne  !  I  see  that  your  nature 
is  one  of  those  which  grasps  truth  without  requiring  de- 
monstration, and  since  you  are  making  revelations  to-day 
just  tell  me — " 

*'  Not  now.  I  am  afraid  your  mother  will  be  missing 
me,  for  I  left  her  to  join  you  here.  Let  us  go  back  to 
her." 


CHAPTER    XX. 


"  Will  you  take  my  arm  ?  "  said  Pierre,  sorry  to  tear 
himself  away  from  the  flowery  oasis  where  Marianne  had, 
for  the  first  time  betrayed  the  secret  of  her  solitary 
musings. 


242  MARIANNE. 

"We  cannot  walk  two  abreast,"  replied  Marianne. 
"  It  is  only  a  path  for  a  single  person." 

"  Single — but  you  will  not  be  so  always !  I  think  you 
will  soon  be  making  a  road  here."' 

"  Let  us  quicken  our  steps,"  said  Marianne.  "  Here  is 
M.  Gaucher  coming  in  search  of  us,  and  I  don't  want 
him  inside  my  wilderness.'"'  So  saying,  she  started  at  a 
swift  run  over  the  uneven  ground,  skimming  it  like  a 
swallow. 

"  Bless  you,  Marianne  !  "  was  Pierre's  mental  rejoinder. 
His  raptures  were,  however,  soon  dissipated,  when  he  saw 
Marianne  accepting  the  arm  which  Philippe  offered  to 
lead  her  back  to  Madame  Andre.  He  wished  she  could 
have  found  some  pretext  for  refusing  it,  which  would  not 
hay,e  been  easy,  unless  she  meant  to  play  the  prude,  a 
part  which  she  seemed  to  have  no  intention  of  assuming 
towards  Gaucher. 

Marianne's  dress  was  rather  striking,  it  was  an  amber 
mousseline-de-laine,  which  set  off  her  complexion  to  advan- 
tage. The  bright  color  was  softened  and  toned  down  by 
simple  ruches  of  very  transparent  tulle  at  the  neck  and 
arms.  Her  black  hair  was  merely  adorned  by  a  yellow 
rose  shading  into  pink,  but  her  thick  short  locks  wore 
curled  with  more  than  usual  care.  Her  shoes  were  neat^ 
and  displayed  a  very  tiny  foot,  which  was  genei-ally  all 
but  concealed  in  heavy  boots,  or  even  vulgar  walnut- 
wood  sabots.  Gaucher  scrutinized  her  with  a  bold  curi- 
osity which  did  not  seem  to  offend  her.  He  examined  her 
feet,  hands,  and  waist  with  the  air  of  a  satisfied  con- 
noisseur eager  to  express  his  approbation.  He  was  quite 
ready  to  tell  her  that  the  shade  of  her  dress  was  bewitch- 
ing, and  that  her  figure  looked  like  a  palm  swayed  by  the 
breeze. 

*'  My   figure    like   a    palm  ? "    responded    Marianne 


MARIANNE.  243 

lightly.  *'It  must  be  a  dwarf  palm,  a  cAama?rojt?5  then? 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  "  said  she,  addressing  her  godfather. 

"  What,  are  you  a  botanist  ?  "'  exclaimed  Philippe 
naively. 

"  No,  indeed.  But  M.  Pierre  has  a  palm  of  that  sort 
growing  in  a  box,  and  I  remembered  its  name." 

"  But  you  must  be  fond  of  flowers,  for  your  vases  and 
baskets  are  marvels  of  taste." 

"They  are  only  wild  flowers  from  our  fields  and 
hedgerows.  I  like  them  better  out  of  doors  than  in  my 
little  parlor  ;  but  it  is  not  often  that  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  welcoming  Madame  Andre  here,  and  as  the  ancients 
offered  victims  to  their  tutelary  gods,  so  I  sacrifice  the 
lovely  i3lants  to  my  dear  friend." 

''  I  don't  see  one  bit  of  honeysuckle,"  said  Philippe, 
who  had  followed  Marianne  into  the  sitting-room  where 
Madame  Andre  was  resting. 

"  Suzon  might  have  given  us  a  bit  of  hers,"  returned 
Marianne ;  "  but  the  necklace  fretted  her,  so  she  rolled 
over  with  it,  and  you  may  imagine  its  condition  after  that. 
There  was  nothing  left  but  the  inscription,  about  which 
she  did  not  trouble  herself,  as  she  cannot  read." 

"  Why  do  you  laugh.  Monsieur  Andre  ?  "  said  Phil- 
ippe, to  Pierre.     "I  have  accomplished  my  object — " 

*'  What  was  your  object  ?  "  asked  Marianne. 

"  Why,  I  wanted  to  show  you  that  I  was  thinking 
"of  you  even  before  daybreak.  Now  you  know  it,  and  I 
am  satisfied." 

"  And  Avhat  made  you  think  of  me  so  early  ?  " 

"Must  I  tell  you?" 

"  You  seem  to  expect  me  to  ask." 

"  How  can  I  reply  here  in  the  presence  of  witnesses  ?  " 

"  You  made  no  secret  of  saying  that  I  had  been  the 
subject  of  your  thoughts.     It  does  not  do  to  commence 


244  MARIANNE. 

any  speech  aloud  that  has  to  end  in  a  whisper,  it  is  better 
to  leave  it  alone." 

"In  other  words,  I  had  better  have  held  my  tongue?" 

*' I  did  not  say  that;  I  want  to  know  what  you 
thought  of  me  this  morning.  It  must  have  been  some- 
thing pleasant,  since  you  paid  Suzon  such  attentions." 

"I  thought  you  were  charming  and  graceful  enough 
to  turn  any  man's  head." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  You  dispense  your  compliments 
with  the  urbanity  of  a  sovereign.  Must  I  acknowledge 
them  by  a  courtesy  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  Mademoiselle  Marianne." 

"  Then  here  it  is,  Monsieur  Philippe,"  replied  she, 
making  a  low  mock  courtesy  very  gracefully. 

Pierre  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  He  had  never 
supposed  she  could  be  so  animated  and  coquettish. 
Philippe,  growing  bolder,  began  to  pay  her  still  more 
marked  attentions,  charmed  by  her  banter,  and  thinking, 
as  any  one  else  in  his  place  might  have  done,  that  she  was 
delighted  with  his  admiration. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

• 

Dinner  was  served  under  the  vines  and  jessamine, 
which  covered  the  verandah  with  long  festoons,  and  hung 
down  their  tendrils  over  the  heads  of  the  guests.  The 
table  was  enlivened  with  old  china,  of  no  great  value  in 
those  days,  though  it  would  be  now,  and  its  bright 
colors,  standing  out  on  a  bluish  ground,  looked  gay  and 
pretty.      Mariann^'^  had   brought  out   some   old  Nevers 


MARIANNE.  245 

glass,  put  out  of  sight  as  old-fashioned,  by  her  parents, 
but  sure  to  be  admired  by  a  collector.  Philippe  was 
artist  enough  to  appreciate  at  least  the  quaiiitness  of  these 
pretty  objects,  and  omitted  no  opportunity  of  praising 
both  the  general  effect  and  every  detail  of  the  service. 
His  appetite  was  good,  for  Marichette,  under  her  mistress' 
direction,  was  an  excellent  cock,  and  the  simplest  food 
was  converted  into  dainty  dishes  under  her  hands.  Old  M. 
Chevreuse  had  left  some  bottles  of  capital  wine  in  his 
cellar,  and  Marianne  had  taken  care  of  it.  In  short,  she 
showed  as  much  coquetry  in  her  dinner  as  in  her  dress 
and  manner.  Philippe,  who  had  not  much  faith  in  the 
part  he  was  playing  of  an  unexpected  guest,  was  not  slow 
to  believe  that  he  was  getting  on  famously,  and  would 
find  no  difficulty  in  winning  the  lady's  hand  and  fortune. 
The  wine  seemed  to  have  got  into  his  head,  at  any 
rate  he  became  very  tender  over  dessert.  Pierre's 
attempts  to  restrain  him  by  criticism  or  contradiction, 
did  but  excite  him  the  more ;  and  Madame  Andre  teased 
him  openly,  in  hopes  of  making  him  look  ridiculous. 
Marianne  was  so  skilful  in  encouraging  him  to  confidence 
and  expansion  that  he  augured  well  for  his  cause,  and  on 
rising  from  table,  after  a  perfect  volley  of  compliments, 
some  of  which  were  pretty  well  turned,  and  others  in 
rather  bad  taste,  Philippe  seized  Marianne  by  the  arm, 
saying  that  he  wished  to  see  the  big  oxen  and  fat  sheep, 
for  a  landscape  artist  knew  more  about  cattle  than  the 
farmers. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Marianne,  withdrawing 
her  arm  ;  "  you  pretend  to  appreciate  everything  better 
than  we  do,  whether  in  town  or  country,  because  you  are 
an  artist  by  profession  ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  your 
calling  spoils  everything  and  hinders  you  from  seeing." 
Then,  in  reply  to  Philippe's  remonst.  ances,  she  resumed 


246  MARIANNE, 

"  You  see  too  much,  and  you  do  not  see  things  aright ; 
you  try  to  express  what  is  inexpressible.  The  beautiful 
is  like  the  Deity,  its  existence  is  all-sufficient  and  no 
hymns  or  songs  of  praise  can  add  one  iota  to  its  glory. 
Words,  verses,  pictures,  and  whatever  may  be  invented  to 
embellish  the  truth  tend  only  to  diminish  the  feeling  it 
inspires  when  "we  gaze  on  it  without  any  thought  of  trying 
to  express  it." 

"  What  are  you  saying  there  ?  "  exclaimed  Philippe. 
"  Are  you  opposed  to  art  ?  A  systematic  Philistine  ? 
Such  words  from  your  lips  are  as  bad  as  a  caterpillar  on 


a  rose 


\ " 


"There  you  are  caught,"  said  Marianne  promptly, 
"  for  a  caterpillar  on  a  rose  is  a  lovely  object,  those  that 
live  on  our  rose-trees  are  a  fine  and  glossy  and  emerald 
green.  You  can  never  have  examined  a  caterpillar,  ar- 
tist as  you  are.  Some  of  them  are  marvels  of  beauty, 
and  I  know  of  none  that  are  ugly.  How  are  you  to  look 
at  my  big  oxen,  when  you  cannot  even  look  at  such  a 
tiny  creature  ?  " 

"  Is  it  you  the  naturalist,  who  have  persuaded  your 
goddaughter  that  the  love  of  nature  is  killed  by  art?" 
asked  Philippe  of  Andrb.  "  If  so,  you  have  taught  her 
a  pretty  paradox.'' 

"  It  seems  to  figure  as  such  in  your  discussion,"  re- 
turned Andre,  "  and  your  proposition  is  quite  as  much  of 
a  paradox  as  Marianne's.  I  think  it  would  be  easier 
to  discuss  the  question  if  the  argument  were  better 
stated." 

"  Pray  state  it  properly,"  said  Marianne. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  shape  it  would  assume  with  me," 
replied  Pierre,  addressing  Gaucher.  "  You  think  that 
we  require  knowledge  to  enable  us  to  see  things,  and  this 
I  grant ;  a  naturalist  sees  more   than  the   peasant,  but 


MARIANNE,  247 

art  differs  from  science,  and  we  must  feel  things  before 
we  can  give  them  expression.  This  is  what  Marianne 
means.  She  thinks  that  you  have  not  loved  and  studied 
nature  sufficiently  to  render  it.  Pray  observe  that  she 
has  not  seen  any  of  your  paintings  ;iny  more  than  I 
myself,  so  it  is  not  your  talent  that  she  is  criticizing,  but 
your  theory,  which  sounds  rather  presumptuous  as  com; 
ing  from  such  a  youngster.  She  thinks  that  the  way 
does  not  lie  through  the  studio  into  the  country,  but 
from  the  country  into  the  studio ;  in  other  words  we  do 
not  learn  to  see  by  becoming  artists,  but  we  become  art- 
ists by  learning  to  use  our  eyes.  Was  not  that  what 
you  meant,  Marianne  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"    she   replied ;    "  then    you   agree    with 


me 


9" 


"  Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  live  stock,"  exclai  med 
Phillipe,  "you  are  far  too  clever  for  me!  " 

"  Well,  we  will  go  and  see  the  animals,"  replied  Mari- 
anne.— "  Won't  you  come  too !  "  said  she  to  her  god- 
father, adding  in  a  low  voice :  "  I  shall  go  with  you  as 
far  as  the  stables,  and  then  come  back  to  play  the  game 
with  your  mother" 

"  We  will  follow  you,"  returned  Pierre. 

He  did  not  follow,  however,  but  returned  to  the  par- 
lor with  Madame  Andre,  saying  :  "  let  us  leave  them  to 
come  to  an  understanding.  The  time  for  Marianne's 
decision  is  arrived.  She  has  brought  it  on  by  her  confi- 
dences. He  will,  sum  up  all  the  declarations  he  has 
been  making  over  the  dinner-table.  If  Marianne  likes 
him,  it  is  useless  to  give  any  advice,  we  have  only  to 
accept  the  facts." 

"Madame  Andre  felt  uneasy,  and  did  not  like  Pierre's 
leaving  the  young  couple  together.  She  pressed  him  to 
follow  Marianne,  and  he  promised  to  obey,  but  went   off 


248  MARIANNE. 

by  himself  into  the  little  wilderness,  where,  a  few  hours 
before,  he  had  felt  happy  and  sanguine  for  a  moment. 
This  was  all  over  now  and  the  life  marred  by  ex  cessivc 
bashfulness  rose  up  before  him  as  a  bitter  irony,  when 
contrasted  with  the  rapid  triumph  of  a  youngster,  whose 
sole  merit  consisted  possibly  inhis  self-confidence. 

After  an  hour's  dejection,  he  returned  to  his  mother, 
whom  he  found  discussins:  household  matters  with  Mari- 
chette,  as  she  helped  her  to  replace  the  old  china  and 
pretty  glass  behind  the  panels  of  the  sitting  room. 
"  Well,"  said  she,  as  she  took  Pierre's  arm  and  led  him 
out  into  the  garden,  "  are  you  come  back  alone  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  what  has  become  of  ttiem,"  answered 
Pierre.  "  I  thought  I  should  find  them  here."  They 
walked  round  under  the  trellis  of  vines,  but  saw  nothing 
of  them.  •  "You  know  now,"  said  Pierre,  "that  there 
must  be  something  decisive  in  this  lengthy  tete-a-tete." 

"  No,  they  must  still  be-going  round  the  farm.  Do 
go  and  join  them  !  " 

"  I  don't  wish  to  play  the  spy,  and  if  they  are  taking 
a  sentimental  walk  through  the  beech-wood,  I  should 
not  like  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  farm-people  by 
looking  for  Marianne." 

They  came  back  to  the  parlor  which  Marichette  had 
vacated,  and  waited  another  quarter  of  an  hour.  Ma- 
dame Andre  felt  vexed  and  anxious.  Pierre  sat  in  silent 
dejection. 

At  length  Marianne  entered  alone,  slightly  agitated, 
though  smiling.  "  Forgive  me  for  being  such  a  bad 
hostess,  dear  friend,"  said  she,  .kissing  Madame  Andre, 
"I  have  been  very  remiss  in  doing  the  honors  of  my 
];ouse,  but  the  fault  is  yours.  Why  did  you  bring  me 
:  uch  an  enterprising  guest  ?  " 

"  Enterprising?"  repeated  Pierre  with  bitter  irony. 


MARIANNE.  249 

"Yes,  indeed  !  He  expects  me  to  fall  in  love  within 
three  hours,  and  promise  to  marry  him.  Rather  a  sum- 
mary way  of  proceeding,  you  will  allow." 

"  Not  too  summary,  if  he  has  succeeded  in  getting 
you  to  make  up  your  mind." 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Marianne. 

"  Then  you  have  come  to  announce  your  engage- 
ment," said  Pierre,  dolefully.  "  Wliy  is  he  not  here  to 
proclaim  his  triumph?" 

"Oh,  he  is  modest  about  his  triumph,  and  has  left 
us." 

"  Has  he  gone  hack  bj  himself  to  Dolmor  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  is  going  back  to  Paris." 

"To  buy  the  wedding  presents?"  said  Madame 
Andre. 

"  He  will  soon  be  buying  them  for  some  Parisian,  I 
have  no  doubt,"  replied  Marianne,  "  for  he  vows  he  has 
had  enough  of  country  girls." 


CHAPTER  XXni. 


Madame  A^^^dre  started  to  her  feet,  exclaiming: 
"  Then  it  is  all  at  an  end  ! " 

Marianne  looked  at  Pierre  who  had  been  unable  to 
restrain  a  cry  of  joy.     "Are  you  glad?  "  asked  she. 

"  Not  if  you  regret  it  !  " 

"  I  regret  nothing.  All  he  had  in  his  favor  was  his 
audacity,  which  impressed  me  at  first.  I  felt  that  with 
X  man  of  such  decision  I  should  be  spared  all  trouble  in 


^2b0  MARIANNE, 

thinking  for  myself,  whicli  would  have  been  very  conven- 
ient; but  if  a  man  never  hesitates,  he  ought  to  liave  ex- 
cellent juclgment,  and  as  soon  as  he  began  to  talk,  I  saw 
that,  however  clever  and  kind-heaited  he  might  be.  he 
had  very  little  sense.  What  would  become  of  such  a 
poor  weak  creature  as  myself,  if  I  had  a  liusband  without 
brains  ?  It  would  never  do,  and  since  he  pressed  me  to 
say  Avhat  I  thought  of  him,  I  gave  him  my  opinion  as 
frankly  as  I  have  just  done  to  you." 

"  Tell  us  how  it  all  came  about,"  said  Madame  Andre. 
"To  begin  with,  where  were  you?  Did  he  make  his 
offer  in  the  cowshed  ?  " 

"  No,  in  tlie  meadow,  on  the  further  side  of  tlie  grove. 
I  vvonder  you  did  not  hear  us,  for  we  had  a  good  deal  of 
argument  during  our  walk.  As  to  any  declaration  of  his 
sentiments,  that  took  place  in  your  presence,  under  the  in- 
flu<?.nce  of  the  muscat,  and  there  was  no  need  to  repeat  it. 
He  began  at  once  to  talk  of  marriage  ;  but  I  had  made  up 
my  mind,  and  told  him  at  once  that  I  had  no  intention  of 
marrying  and  then  he  became  angry.  ITe  can 'be  ill-tem- 
pered enough  if  you  thwart  him.  Ho  reproached  me 
with  being  a  villnge  coquette,  for  flirting  with  him  the 
whole  of  dinner  time.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  sny  some 
hard  things,  and  I  took  it  meekly,  for  I  deserved  them. 
It  is  quite  true  that  I  flirted,  and  I  cannot  disown  it,  but 
my  coquetry  was  not  displayed  on  his  account,  and  as  I 
could  not  confess  my  secret,  I  chose  to  let  him  think  what 
he  liked  of  me." 

"  Then  for  whom  was  your  coquetry  displayed  ? " 
asked  Madame  Andre. 

"  For  one  avIio  refuses  to  guess  anything  that  he  is 
not  told.  One  must  have  M.  Philippe's  self-confidence 
to  come  to  an  understanding  with  him.  I  tried  to  have 
it,  and  only  required  the  excitement  of  his  praise  to  give 


MARIANN. 


me  the  courage  1  had  always  lacked 
structor  has  gone,  and  I  begin  to  ask  mySe^  ^diulirrPlfie 
really  thought  me  pretty  or  intelligent,  for  all  my  old 
doubts  are  returning  !  " 

"Marianne,  Marianne,"  cried  Pierre,  tlirowing  liim- 
self  on  his  knees  before  his  goddaughter,  '*  if  you  have 
guessed  my  feelings  in  spite  of  my  roughness,  you  will 
pardon  it,  for  I  have  done  penance  enougli  to-day. 

"  I  have  to  ask  for  pardon  too,"  returned  Marianne.  1 
read  what  you  wrote  down  in  your  pocket-book.  It  slipped 
from  your  hand  two  days  ago,  upon  the  little  grassy 
path,  as  you  were  talking  to  me  of  M.  Gaudier,  and  I 
found  it  as  I  walked  back.  Thinking  it  was  an  album 
full  of  sketches,  such  as  you  often  make  when  you  walk 
out,  I  opened  it,  and  saw  my  own  name.  And  then — well, 
I  read  it,  I  read  it  all,  and  in  the  evening  I  brought  back 
the  book  and  laid  it  on  your  drawing-room  table,  by  the 
side  of  your  satchel,  without  saying  a  word.  There  you 
have  my  offence.  I  knew  tlien  that  you  doubted  my  affec- 
tion, and-  regretted  that  you  could  not  count  upon  it^  I 
wanted  to  see  whether  you  would  be  jealous  of  my 
suitor,  so  I   made  myself  agreeable,  and  now — " 

"Now,"  cried  Madame  Andre,  "he  will  bo  happy, 
for,  in  spite  of  all  his  endeavors,  I  gues-sed  his  reasons  for 
abusing  himself  so  much  !  " 

"  But  I  am  quite  unworthy  of  you,  Marianne,""  said 
Pierre,  shrinking  again  ;  "  you  are  adorable,  and  I  am — " 

"  Never  mind  what  you  think  of  yourself,"  returned 
Marianne  briskly ;  "  you  have  said  everything  you  could 
imagine  in  my  presence  to  discourage  me  from  loving 
you,  but  all  in  vain.  I  have  loved  you  for  six  years.  1 
never  thought  when  it  first  began,  that  it  would  be  so  long 
before  you  returned.  I  kept  expecting  you  with  the 
rustic  patience  which  we  learn  in  our  childhood,  but  your 


252  MARIANNE,^ 

return  was  a  disappointment,  for  I  saw  that  you  were 
determined  not  to  fall  in  love,  and,  but  for  the  pocket- 
book,  I  should  have  thought  all  was  over.  Finding  that, 
in  spito  of  all  your  efforts,  you  could  not  help  thinking 
of  me,  I  took  courage,  and  then,  this  morning — I  saw  the 
tears  in  your  eyes.  Come  now,  let  us  own  that  we  love 
each  other,  and  could  never  be  happy  apart." 

"7%a^we  never  could,"  replied  Pierre  Andre,  "for 
never  were  two  people  more  alike.  We  are  both  timid 
and  reserved,  yet  we  have  the  same  frank  rectitude.  We 
have  the  same  tastes,  with  the  same  aversion  to  making 
tliem  public,  but  feel  the  need  of  communicating  them  to 
one  another  and  enjoying  them  together.  We  adore 
nature  and  love  the  country;  while  separated,  our  en- 
joyment of  them  was  melancholy,  now  it  will  be  rap- 
ture !  But  what  we  have  both  felt  the  want  of  most 
has  been  mutual  love  and  sympathy,  unbounded  confi- 
dence in  another  being  who  is  our  second  self.  At  forty, 
I  offer  you  a  virgin  heart  that  has  been  bestowed  only 
on  visions.  Accept  it  as  your  own,  for  its  past,  present, 
and  future  shall  centre  in  you." 

It  was  night  before  Pierre  and  his  mother  left  Validat 
Madame  Andrcf  wished  to  walk  part  of  the  way ;  then  she 
got  into  the  cliaise  and  left  them  to  follow,  feeling  that 
they  must  wish  to  be  alone,  and  Marianne,  having  the 
carriage  to  take  her  back,  walked  on  to  Dolmor,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  her  godfather,  whom  she  had  again  begun 
to  address  as  Pierre. 

"  What  a  lovely  evening !  "  said  he,  as  they  looked  up 
to  the  stars.  "  How  fresh  the  air  is,  and  how  balmy  ! 
The  very  earth  and  rocks  seem  to  smell  sweet  to-night ! 
I  never  saw  the  stars  look  so  clear  before,  we  seem  to  be 
passing  through  an  enchanted  land,  that  has  sprung  up 
without  our  knowing   it,  since  morning.      Ah  !  if  I  had 


'MARIANNE.  1^53 

been  as  happy  as  this  in  my  youth  I  shouhl  have  become 
a  great  poet  and  artist.'' 

"  Thank  heaven  yon  did  not,"  replied  Marianne,  "  or 
my  inferiority  Avould  seem  all  the  greater  to  you,  for  i 
know  notliing  of  all  these  fine  things  ;  but  I  fancy  I  love 
nature  all  the  more  from  being  unable  to  ex]u*ess  my  feel- 
ings. M.  ]-*hilippe  horrified  me  to-day  by  the  queer  ped- 
antic words  he  used  to  qualify  all  that  he  saw.  No,  words 
cannot  express  one's  feelings,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
more  people  say,the  less  they  see.  Nature  must  be  like 
love,  Pierre.  It  dwells  in  our  hearts,  and  it  don't  do  for 
us  to  talk  about  it,  for  it  grows  weaker  by  description. 
When  I  dream,  I  don't  know  what  comes  over  me  but  I 
see  notliing  but  heaven  and  myself.  And  now  I  put  myself 
out  of  the  question,  for  if  I  think  of  you,  I  am  absorbed  by 
you,  and  forget  my  own  existence.  You  are  my  liappiness, 
my  poetry,  and  my  science." 

After  Marianne  had  driven  off  in  lier  chaise  and  Pierre 
had  gone  indoors  he  found  the  following  note  awaiting 
him  from  Philippe, — 

"  My  dear  Andre  : 

I  have  called  in  at  your  liouse  for 
my  luggage,  and  leave  a  line  behind  to  thank  you  for  your 
kind  reception.  If  your  pretty  little  neighbor  made  fun 
of  me,  tlie  fault  was  not  yours,  but  my  own  ;  I  ought  to 
have  opened  my  eyes  wider  and  become  sooner  aware  of 
her  preference  for  you,  a  preference  which  she  could  not 
altogether  conceal  though  she  never  avowed  it.  I  might 
have  spared  myself  the  annoyance  of  liaving  been  in  love 
with  her  for  three  or  four  hours,  but  love  is  no  killing 
matter,  and  I  remain  her  friend  as  well  as   yours,  for  she 


254  MARIANNE. 

IS   .'I  cliarming  woman,  and  I  congratulate   you  on  your 
good  fortune.  " 

The   day    following,    Pierre    Andrd    and  Marianne 
Chevreuse  had  their  banns  published 


THE  EKD. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


n-^s-ns 


LD  21-100m-2,'55 

/r>-i  on„oo\/irTc 


General  Library 
University  of  California 


YB  54639 


a5 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


